#and then the picnic itself was. fine. objectively. good! objectively.

[pentanguine]

The next time I’m tempted to have a robust social life, someone remind me: DON’T

[milkiane]

I WAS MADE FOR LOVIN' YOU. eddie munson.

navigation - masterlist - taglist

summary: the four times eddie knew he was a goner and the one time he told you.

warnings: no spoilers! don’t worry, you’re safe here. profanities. gif credits to @his-name-is-ed <3

word count: 5.1k

i. the first time eddie knew he was a goner was when… he found out that you love mötley crüe. 

eddie knows his presence is hard to miss. aside from his wild hair and clothing choices, which apparently do not fit the social standards, he makes it exceptionally difficult for people to ignore him. 

and yet, on a particular, normal, chilly friday in the school field, you effortlessly grab his attention. you didn’t need crazy hair or seeking clothes or loud eccentric speeches on top of a cafeteria table. you’re just… sitting there with a frown on your face and eddie thinks…

eddie can’t think. his mind draws blank as he continues to stare at you.

so like dominoes, his abrupt stop results in the rest of the hellfire club bumping into him, which causes a streak of groans and complaints, but eddie pays them no mind because as if his legs have a mind of their own, they bring him right to you. “carry on without me, my little sheep, destiny awaits!”

you groan in annoyance, slamming your hand onto your malfunctioning walkman. “stupid, stupid, little shi-”

“y’know, i don’t think mauling the poor thing will make it work.” 

you look up at the voice with a glare, your face softens just a bit after seeing it was eddie, but the glare prevails nevertheless, still frustrated with your walkman.

“i mean, sure, i guess that could make it work, too,” eddie shrugs, hopping on top of the picnic table instead of sitting on the benches like a normal person.

“it will work,” you grit your teeth, hitting the side of the device as it did nothing to fix the distorted voice of vince neil. “it just needs a bit of tough love.”

after watching you for a few more minutes with an amused smile, eddie snatches it out of your hands, convinced that you would break it if it doesn’t revive the next second. he ignores your objections as he opens his black metal lunchbox.

“it’s not a lunchbox,” he absentmindedly retorts to your murmur as he goes through his things, silently muttering a quiet no, not this, nope, what the hell is this? and finally, aha!

he raises a mini screwdriver before you as if it will magically take your problems away. “this, my lady, will magically take your problems away.”

huh. 

you hesitantly watch as eddie pops open your walkman, taking out the mixtape to find the tape itself burst out of its case. he tinkers and meddles with it carefully, doing wonders as he manually rewinds it. 

you use his current distraction to take a good look at him. you’ve seen him around the school; in class, in the hallways, at the cafeteria, but you’ve never crossed the borders of his personal bubble or actually spoken to him until now.

he isn’t a bad sight to see. 

his hair, although gone rogue, looks so soft that you physically have to restrain yourself from touching it. he has tattoos inked on his skin, slightly covered by his hellfire shirt as if teasing you and leaving you wanting to see more. beautiful silver rings graced his fingers making you want to study each intricate detail that embellished the jewelry.

his tongue is poking out of his lips, brows furrowed in concentration. his nose is slightly crooked as if it’s been broken before. he has dimples piercing his cheeks and the lightest of freckles sprinkled over his face, only noticeable if kissed under the sun.

all things considered, eddie munson is a sight for sore eyes.

“are you done staring, sweetheart?” eddie teases, wiggling his eyebrows at you. “if you’d like, i can pose for you on this table.”

you were too deep in your reveries that you didn’t notice he was done. you blink up at him and scoff. “shut up, i wasn’t staring.”

“it’s fine, y’know, it’s normal to stare at pretty things.” he encourages you, satirically playing with his hair. “especially if you’re one of those connoisseurs of art.”

“wow, someone learned a new word today.” you praise him sarcastically.

“now, now, y/n, is that a way to treat someone who just fixed your lil walkman?” eddie chastises, grabbing your headphones from your neck and putting it on his ears. “what were you listening to anyway?”

he gives it a few seconds before the familiar music comes in. he whips his head towards you with a slack jaw. he winces, his hand coming in contact with his neck, massaging the pain from snapping his head towards you too fast.

… i've been a poet always tongue in cheek,

i've seen some scenes man you'd never believe,

and like a supercharged rocket ride,

you know they'd have gasoline if they had the time.

“you- you listen to mötley crüe!” eddie blurts out, standing on the picnic table and pointing an accusatory finger at you. “you’re one of us!”

“shut up!” you pull him back down with a yank. you can still hear angela blasting through your headphones. you look at him with a sigh before muttering. “i love mötley crüe.”

eddie lets out a choked laugh, jumping off the table and squishing your cheeks with his hands. “you’re a cute little metal freak!”

“shut up, munson! you better get your hands off my face or so help me god.”

it came out as gibberish but the point came across. 

“you say ‘shut up’ too much, is that your favorite word?” eddie calls into question, leaning closer to you with a roguish grin. his gaze flickers down to your pouting lips before staring straight into your eyes. “i can teach you more ways to shut me up, y’know?”

“scout’s honor that it’s even more efficacious than the words itself.” he winks at you before grabbing his lunchbox, leaving you bewildered and baffled beyond belief. mötley crüe did not do anything to blur the forming thoughts in your head.

that was strike one for eddie munson.

ii. the second time eddie knew he was a goner was when… you knocked someone out cold with a box of frozen waffles.

you shouldn’t have been out at an ungodly hour, quite frankly, but you really, really, wanted some eggos. so clad in sweats and an oversized shirt, you walk out of bradley’s big buy with three boxes of mini waffles in hand.

and as if the universe wasn’t satisfied with only one interaction, you hear eddie munson’s voice. “hey, come on, man. you’ve been my client for over a year now and you’re only doubting me now?”

“we talked about fifteen grams, munson, so i’m expecting fifteen grams.” 

eddie sighs, rubbing his tired face with his hand. they’ve been going back and forth and he was starting to get annoyed. he wasn’t even supposed to be dealing right now, but when money calls, you answer it. 

“look, man. it’s fifteen. if you don’t believe me, give me the money, go find a weighing scale, and weigh your shit. it’s fifteen grams.” he says, grabbing his lunchbox, but just as he wrapped his fingers on the handle, he gets shoved to the ground, his things crashing with him, skin scratched from catching himself on the rough pavement.

motherfucker.

“hey!” you didn’t want to. you really didn’t want to, but before you can think twice, you get in between eddie and the ridiculously tall buff guy.

you should really start thinking twice.

said guy, although high as a kite, looks at the box of eggos on the floor and back at you. you had thrown a box of waffles at his head.

“take your fifteen grams and leave,” you order calmly, ignoring the whispers of objections of eddie, who immediately stands up at lightspeed, startled by your sudden presence.

“i don’t know who the fuck you think you are, but this is between me and your little druggy friend, a’ight?” he sneers, pushing you aside to grab eddie by his shirt. “besides, the fuck do you know about packing shit right?”

“i know how to pack a punch, for starters.”

you didn’t give him or eddie to process your words before, CRACK! your fist comes in contact with his nose — a sickening crunch and a cry had them both freezing, well, except for the junkie clutching his nose.

“you bitch!” 

with the throbbing pain of your knuckles, you could only whack him across his face with the box of waffles in your hand as he leaped to get you. 

eddie, still frozen in his spot, can only watch in both horror and amazement as the guy gets knocked out cold, face kissing the sidewalk. 

“holy shit…”

“how much did he owe you?” you huff, clutching your victimized hand as you stand over the guy. 

“twenty.” he blinks.

you shrug, digging a hand in the jean pocket of the junkie and placing the crumpled bills in eddie’s hand. “twenty-five for being a shithead.”

eddie took you out for some ice cream treat after that.

“remind me to never get on your nerves, you scare me,” he said, but there was no real fear behind his words, just a twinge of wonder in his voice and a sparkle in his eyes.

you didn’t say anything. you didn’t need to, so you just grinned at him before taking a scoop out of his ice cream.

and at that moment, under the moonlight with frozen waffles aiding your knuckles and discarded ice cream cups on top of his van, eddie just knew that you would stick around. 

and the rest was history.

that was strike two for eddie munson.

iii. the third time eddie knew he was a goner was when… traces of you were slowly starting to bleed into his life, and he didn’t mind.

“is this… MADONNA?”

eddie snaps his head towards the curly-headed boy in his passenger seat, eyes widening at the sight of the manifold of mixtapes that sits on dustin’s lap.

he splutters incoherent excuses as he chucks them back into his glovebox, a hand still on the wheel as he tries to keep the van steady. 

dustin watches in amusement as eddie fumbles with the mixtape that fell from his grasp. he snatches it out of his mentor’s hand and snickers, “wow, abba, too? didn’t know you were such a pioneer of music, eddie.”

eddie thwacks him with the d&d gazette before turning his eyes back on the road. “those aren’t mine.”

it was his. you left it for him.

dustin squints his eyes at his friend as if staring at him like that will force him to tell the truth, and it almost did, but thankfully, he chooses to go through the mixtape-filled glovebox again instead.

you brought half of your mixtapes with you when eddie had asked you to accompany him on a spontaneous road trip out of town one day. he always looks back to that moment.

you were passionately talking about the songs that graced your diverse music taste, hands animatedly moving around as words spew out of your mouth every millisecond. he understood every single thing you said, though.

just because you love mötley crüe doesn’t mean you don’t love starship. you love kiss but you also love the beatles. you love metallica but you also love bee gees, and maybe he was starting to like it, too. 

if you ask eddie, he’ll choose cyndi lauper’s time after time as his slow dance song. absolutely irrelevant yet very relevant.

“why the hell are you smiling like a crazy man?” dustin pokes his cheeks, effectively snapping him out of his daydream.

eddie slaps his hands away from his face.

aside from mixtapes in his glovebox, eddie also has a special drawer with the clothes you often leave at his house, and with the best detergent he has – a discounted brand from a dollar store – he voluntarily washes it for you to wear next time.

 “did… did you wash my clothes?” he remembers you asking the first time.

he turns away from his notebook to look at you. “uh, yeah. you left some of your stuff here and i decided to include it with mine last wash day.”

“oh,” you beam, pulling the material to your nose and breathing it in. “thanks, babe.”

eddie ignores the warmth of his cheeks and goes back to doodling in his notebook. “‘course, would you like me to wear a maid outfit while i’m at it next time?”

you laugh. “i’d like that very much.”

you bring the soft fabric back to your nose, it smells just like him.

you start leaving more clothes in his room after that.

that was strike three for eddie munson.

iv. the fourth time eddie knew he was a goner was when… he wanted to be the best version of himself whenever you’re around.

“okay, so i have a bag of those honeycomb cereal you like, some pringles, juice boxes, pints of ice cream…”

as you continue to list off the snacks you brought for the d&d campaign with the boys, eddie leans forward to buckle your seatbelt, letting you catch a whiff of his cologne. he tugs it twice to make sure it’s fastened properly. “safety first.”

you pause. “you literally never wear your seatbelt.”

“that’s because i sold my soul to the devil for immortality,” eddie pats your thigh before backing out of your driveway. “and because it will cause a decline in my precious reputation!”

“what, common road safety?” you snort. “do tell, kind sir, what would the great eddie munson be known for?”

“you don’t know?” he scoffs in mock disbelief. “i’m an evil self-proclaimed attention whore – i’m known for a lot of things, sweetheart.”

“speaking of being an attention whore,” you gravitate towards him to sniff him again. “are you wearing a new perfume, munson?”

“sit back down, dumbass! and it’s cologne, not perfume.”

“same shit. are you trying to impress someone?” you tease, settling down back in your seat before letting out an overdramatic gasp. “is it dustin? is it because he’s been hanging out with steve the past week?”

“what? no!” he wavers for a moment before sniffing himself. “why? does it smell bad?”

you laugh. “no, no. i actually like it better than your old one.”

“good, i bought it especially for you.” he winks, turning the volume of the music up before you can even reply.

“i can’t believe erica rolled a d20!” eddie exclaims, packing up the boards.

“and twice,” you agree. 

as usual, you and eddie stayed back after the campaign, ushering the kids — and gareth and the group — out of the room as soon as you heard the distant rumble of the sky. you knew they’d be biking home, so you asked them to leave early, much to your best friend’s displeasure.

you pick up the empty chip bags and discarded juice boxes, prolonging the chat you’re having with eddie.

mid-conversation, you lean against his throne, garbage bag in your hands. he was talking animatedly and you’re not quite sure what he’s even talking about anymore.

the lights of the room give him a glow that makes your heart beam. the perfect combination of green, orange, and blue; it makes him look like a fallen angel. a devil in disguise. the right fusion of both.

his eyes are soft, it’s kind. his smile is, too. everything about him is. he doesn’t show anyone, but you always get the opportunity to see a part of him that makes you fall in love with him even more.

“…and then just as i was about to dream of rubbing their loss in their puny little faces — she slaps me with a crit hit! that’s twice!”

“yeah,” you whisper, a gentle smile on your lips. you push yourself off the chair and start helping him around the room. “maybe it’s a sign that you’re getting a bit rusty, buzz.”

“drop it with the nickname! it’s been years and i was only forced to have it shaved after stupid anthony chopped my hair nasty in history.”

you double down in laughter. “and wayne has been so gracious enough to show me the pictures.”

eddie glares at you before running towards you. you only advance two steps away from him before he catches you from behind and pulls you against him.

“salvage yourself, you insolent little minx.”

“no! i shan’t yield!”

giggles escape both of your lips, sounds slowly getting muffled by the drops of rain starting to patter one by one, making you and eddie stop in your tracks.

you exchange wide-eyed glances before hurrying with the packing.

you run out of the building, shoes splashing over the formed puddles, you didn’t even notice eddie shrug his jacket off to shield both of you from the rain. 

a few meters from his van, you pull away from him and let the water hit you, dampening your clothes all within a second. 

“what the hell are you doing?” eddie shouts over the loud pour.

“come on!” you pull him towards you, cold hands grasping his warm ones, you dance in the rain.

eddie watches you in disbelief, though there’s a smile on his face. “fuck it,” he mutters. “wait here.”

he runs to his van, almost slipping on the wet ground. “i’m okay!”

“idiot.” you snort.

eddie opens the door to the passenger seat and opens the glovebox. he grabs a random mixtape and fumbles to put it in the player, only then realizing that he didn’t even start the van. 

a minute or two later of waiting, you hear a bees gees song blast from eddie’s van. 

“come on, baby,” he whoops, grabbing your hands as he starts shimmying. “let’s dance!”

you let out a blissful laugh as he twirls you around. you jump around in the puddles, soaked clothes slightly weighing you down from being drenched. you attempt to twirl eddie around, too, which was a struggle due to his height.

he sings along to the song and you gasp in surprise. “you know this song?”

“do i- do i know this song?” he repeats in incredulity. “of course, i do! i’m in-”

adrenaline getting to his head, eddie realizes what he was about to say so he rectifies it. “you only sing it every second of the day. that damn song is engraved in my head!”

he pulls you back against him with a grin, a hand intertwined with yours and another supporting your back. he dips you, and you yelp in surprise.

the both of you are panting from all the dancing, but the smiles never left your face. you stare at his face, he stares at yours. you tuck a wet strand of his hair behind his ear, letting your hand rest on his jaw. he has a light stubble.

his eyes flicker to your lips, you do the same.

should i kiss him? should i not kiss him?

the loud boom of the thunder makes the decision for the two of you. the sound startles both of you, resulting in jumping away from each other faster than the next flash of lightning.

“we should head home if we still want to have this movie marathon,”

“yeah.”

eddie goes over his thoughts for a moment as you adjust the heater of the van. he recollects the resolution he made earlier, pondering over the idea of being the best version of himself though he already feels like he became it the first time he met you. how can one become the best-est best version of themselves?

that was strike four for eddie munson. 

but for you… you lost count of how many it’s been because every day with eddie adds a tally to your strikes.

v. the time eddie tells you how he’s a goner for you.

“harrington? fucking harrington?”

“it’s a friendly date, buzz,” you point out, hand steady as you do your eyeliner in his bedroom mirror.

“with harrington?” he stresses, his own hands tugging at his brown locks.

“yes, eddie.” you sigh, it’s been a repetitive back and forth. “it’s not a date date. it’s friendly, as i said. robin will be there.”

he sits up against the wall, lips moving before his brain can process his words. “well, if buckley’s gonna be there then what else does he want with you?”

you pause, dropping your hand to look at him. “okay, ouch.”

“no, i-” he groans dramatically into his hands. “i didn’t mean it like that. i just- i don’t understand why you have to spend a perfectly great night with harrington-”

“and robin.”

“-and robin, when you can just spend it with me.” eddie pouts. he sounds pathetic, he knows, but he’s jealous. what if you decide to leave him for steve? – and although he understands; it’s steve harrington, for god’s sake. he would, too, if he can – life would have no other purpose for him if you do.

“aww,” you mimic his pout, walking over to him to pat his cheeks. “don’t worry, hotshot, you’re still my favorite boy.”

“whatever,” he swats your hands away, though the grin tugging at the corner of his lips persists. he takes his time admiring you properly. you looked gorgeous, as always.

“c’mon, you big baby,” you protested. “robin will be there! plus, you can always come wi-”

“well, why didn’t you say so?” he exclaims, leaping towards the door clad in his hellfire shirt and boxers. “let’s go! we better get goi-”

you throw his jeans at him. “for your modesty.”

eddie was glad he came along. he looks at you with clear fondness, watching as your eyes light up like a child on christmas day. you jump in excitement, dragging him into the fair. 

“hey, you made it!” steve jogs towards you, but then his eyes flicker to your company. “…and munson.”

“harrington,” eddie grins, a hint of mischief in the glint of his smile as he bows to him.

you roll your eyes at them. “where’s robin?”

“right here, lovebug,” she smiles, offering you a pink cotton candy as she takes a bite off the blue one. steve’s mouth slowly falls slack in bewilderment.

“aww, my favorite,” you pout your lips as you clink your sweets like glasses of wine. 

“that’s mine!”

“buy your own cotton candy, dingus,”

“you paid for those with my money.”

eddie pays them no mind as they continue to bicker. he snatches a piece of cotton candy as he wiggles his eyebrows at you. “i see a kissing booth we can go to… the marriage booth, too, maybe?”

“stop,” you smack his arm. “let’s start with the basketball — eddie, they’ve got those big teddy bears!”

“well, the night is young, sweetheart,”

the night is young, indeed. you go around the fair with the group, steve has the giant teddy bear propped on his shoulders as if it was his child — “he is!” he argued. “his name is harry harrington.”

“harry harrington?” you had asked in incredulity. “that’s a shit name, steve!”

he gasped in mock offense, bringing the bear down to cover its ears. “don’t listen to her, harry, she’s just jealous you aren’t hers.”

eddie’s jealous he isn’t yours, too, but he wasn’t going to say that. 

you felt as if you’ve managed to go through every single booth but according to the map robin had somehow snatched, there were more than half of it you have yet to explore.

“c’mon, there’s a ball toss over there,” eddie says, grabbing your arm to drag you away from steve. “gonna win you that giant fucking elephant.”

although as soon as you stop by before it, eddie does a double-take. “six dollars?”

“six dollars.” the merchant confirms.

he looks at you and whispers in disbelief. “six dollars?”

you shrug at him, letting out a chuckle at his expression. “capitalism, baby,”

eddie sighs. he’s glad he brought his wallet with him. he’s willing to spend all of his income if it meant getting you that elephant — and he will.

“we don’t have to, you know,” you reassure him, eyeing him as he reaches out for the dollars. “there’s still a lot of booths we can go to.”

“nah, i’m getting you that elephant.” he slams the money on the counter. the merchant smirks. three balls.

eddie grabs one and exhales. “wish me luck.”

he throws the ball, and again, and then again. and then he slams more money onto the counter, and then again, and again. 

his aim’s good, but not enough to knock all the cans down. steve and robin managed to do a round before returning to the both of you with corndogs in hand.

with his promise of a last round, he sighs at the sight of what’s left of the standing cans. he gives you the last ball.

“are you sure?” you hesitate.

“do the honors, my lady,” eddie smiles, eyes so soft that subtle crinkles show at the corners. 

and with a swift throw, you somehow manage to knock down all of the cans. you and eddie whoop in excitement, jumping up and down as the merchant sighs exasperatedly, grabbing your oversized prize.

“oh my god,” you whisper, hugging the elephant to your chest. “it’s so fluffy!”

eddie looks at you with a dopey lovesick smile. maybe it was the sparkling fairy lights overhead, or the distant music playing, or maybe it was because you’re practically bouncing off the balls of your feet, a giddy smile adorning your lips… or maybe it was because eddie cannot take it any longer so he says, “i’m in love with you.”

you falter for a bit, uncertain if you heard him correctly. “what?”

and steve, who had initially asked you on a date — although as friendly as he claims — leans against the wooden pillar, face contorting in realization, lips forming into an unmistakable o as he grasps what is happening.

robin grins, a quiet finally! unleashing from her lips. to give you two some privacy, well, as private as a conversation in a public place can be, she drags steve to a very friendly competition of high strikers. steve lets her, sending eddie an encouraging thumbs up. 

“i-i’m in love with you,” eddie repeats, voice wavering at your blank expression. he couldn’t read you and it’s making him anxious. “i’m so terribly and undeniably in love with you – i knew i did the moment you said you love mötley crüe.”

you let yourself feel all the emotions bursting in all at once. he likes you. eddie munson likes you, so you ask stupidly, “are you sure?”

eddie scoffs a laugh. “am i- am i sure? are you asking me if i’m sure about my own feelings?”

you shrug.

he looks at you before breaking into a run without another word.

“eddie, where are you going?” you call out frantically. 

eddie eyes the haystacks in the center of the park and clumsily mounts on them and nearly falls. he catches himself before he can tumble down. his eyes flicker to yours as he cups his hands over his mouth. “fair people of hawkins, i have an announcement to make!”

“what is he doing?” steve asks as he and robin appear from beside you. 

“i have no idea.”

some people stop by to watch, some go on with whatever it is they were doing, and you just stand where you’re planted, unsure of what he’s about to do and what you’re supposed to do.

“i, eddie munson, a self-proclaimed attention whore, have something very important to say.” he starts – “well, get on with it now!” a guy exclaims. eddie ignores him – “i am in love with y/n l/n. i’ve been in love with her since i found out she loves metal, i’ve fallen for her since she knocked a guy out cold with frozen waffles–”

“frozen waffles?” robin questions.

“– i fell for her even harder when she introduced me to madonna –  that’s right, i love madonna! but most importantly, i knew i was a goner when i wanted to become the best version of myself for her. i wanted to become the person she deserves because i am in love with you, y/n, always have.”

you soften and the world disappears around you; it was just you and him. there is an ache in your chest, but not because of heartbreak, it’s because it feels as if it will burst out of your chest out of love. 

“we can’t help who we fall for,” eddie breathes out, walking down the stack. “but honestly, i’m glad it’s you because there’s no one else in this world whom i would love to love if it’s not you.”

you shove the elephant in steve’s hold and walk straight to eddie. 

he sends you a small smile, arms extended. when you’re a step closer, he whispers. “i’m sorry, i just had to-”

“shut up,” you command, pulling him in for a heated kiss, fingers getting lost and tangled in his hair, his arms snake around your waist to pull you impossibly closer, no gap left unfilled.

your lips dance a fast-paced song, it’s all but intense and passionate – a hint of eagerness and the satisfaction of longing. you forget that it wasn’t just the two of you, that there was a crowd watching you both kiss. you can hear the faint coos of the moms by the corner.

“get a room!” a guy barks out. simultaneously, you and eddie flipped him off but the kiss decelerates into soft and sensual, a contrast to the shared feverish one, now easing up to the feeling of content and delicate love.

you pull away a second later, forehead touching his as you don’t dare to open your eyes yet. “i’m in love with you, too, if it’s not obvious yet.”

“well, i should hope so,” eddie laughs. he gives you a quick peck on the lips before fixing you with a teasing grin. “how about that marriage booth now, sweetheart?”

“take me out on a date first, loverboy.” you interlace your hand with his as you walk away from the spotlight.

“how about a kiss on top of the ferris wheel?” he proposes instead.

“sap,” you scrunch your nose up with a smile. “but i’m not opposed to the idea.”

that was strike ??? for you and eddie.

“just to let you all know, i am not going to sit next to steve on the ferris wheel.”

“what do you mean? i’m an amazing ferris wheel companion.”

“would you like to get shoved off the seat once we’re on top?”

“... how about the bumper cars?”

“deal.”

© milkiane 2022. I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO MODIFY OR REPOST MY WORKS ON ANY OTHER PLATFORMS.

[stargazer-sims]

Far Horizon Park - DOWNLOAD

Today is a happy day, because I finally finished this project that I've been working on since the beginning of February, and now it's ready to share with all of you!

Are your alien visitors looking for a taste of home during their sojourn on Earth? Welcome to Far Horizon Park, the perfect hangout spot for all those fine beings from Sixam and beyond!

This park features exotic plants from the homeworld, a picnic area, glowing* hot spring, fire pit, starship parking, and some out-of-this-world playground equipment for those cute little aliens. There's even a portal, for communicating with people far away or even for a quick trip home.

* hot spring is fully functional but does not actually glow. It is hot pink, though. The hot spring requires Snowy Escape

INFO

This lot uses items from several packs. At a miminum, you should have the Get To Work EP and the Strangerville GP, because it uses a number of debug/live edit objects from both those packs.

This lot also has 32 items of custom content, all made by me. They're all contained in one compressed file in the download folder. The park itself is a separate download in the same folder.

This lot will require the use of bb.moveobjects

NOTE: Some of the trees change colour in the autumn. I didn't know how to fix this, so the park does lose some of its appeal in the autumn, unfortunately. Its best season is summer, but it is usable all year round.

Lot type: Generic

Lot Size: 40x30

Lot Value: $32,476

Lot Traits: Good Soil, Fast Internet, Clothing Optional

HOW TO USE

This download is in two parts. The first part is the tray files for the park, and the second is a large set of custom content items that are required to make the park look the way it does in my previews.

You will need to download both to have the park appear correctly.

Place the Far Horizon Park tray files to your Tray folder

Place files from "Alien Park Items" into your Mods folder

All the CC will appear in the appropriate categories in-game, so you can also use it for your own builds. NOTE: The CC is not all base game compatible. You will need the specific packs that it's from, in order for it to appear in your game.

TOU

do not claim as your own

do not reupload (especially not to pay sites)

you can change the lot type & traits in your own game if you want

feel free to use any of my recoloured items in your own builds, but please credit me and link back to this post.

Far Horizon Park - DOWNLOAD from SFS

@maxismatchccworld @emilyccfinds @sssvitlanz

[strawwritesfic]

Loki Laufeyson x Midgardian!Reader: Firecracker

Summary: Thank Odin he’s only had the one brother and two parents to deal with, that’s all Loki can say.

Rating/Warnings/Tags: All (Domestic Fluff; Big Family; American!Reader; Fourth of July; Post-Avengers (2012); child antics; not canon compliant)

Challenge: “120 Bits of Random” challenge by SugarLandBabyGirl on Lunaescence Archives.

Tag List: @imaginesfire​

Firecracker

Loki never really felt like he fully grasped the concept of “family.” His one on Asgard seemed intent only on distant judgment; his one on Earth was tentative at best and belligerent at worst–or so he assumed. Whenever the subject of visiting yours got brought up, he tried his best to dissuade you. This plan worked fine, all through Halloween and Thanksgiving and Christmas and Easter. But when the summer after he moved in with you rolled around, you put your foot down.

“We’re going for the Fourth of July,” you announced, before holding your hand up to silence his protests. “No buts.”

It cost him quite a bit of effort, but Loki managed to prevent himself from reminding you that he was a prince and therefore he could voice as many buts as he wanted. He thought it best to go along with your plans for the time being. Maybe it was just morbid curiosity as to how the families of mortals worked. Perhaps they were more supportive than those on Asgard.

“So you’re the alien freak that destroyed half the country and got our little [Name] stuck in Manhattan,” your father said upon meeting him. 

Loki shook your father’s hand, then resigned himself to an unpleasant weekend of loud barbecues. Try as you might to coax him into joining the “fun” over the next forty-eight hours, it never took long for one of your several aunts, uncles, siblings, or cousins to make some remark about him and drive Loki back into terse silence.

It didn’t matter what he did. If he tried dressing more casually, he was trying too hard. If he actually got up to help cook, he ruined the food correctly. If he sat down to play a game, he was obviously going to cheat. By the time the actual holiday itself rolled around, Loki could manage only acidic glowers in your direction while looking forward to finally going home.

As the night fell and the sky darkened, the taunting stopped. He seemed to be ignored rather than derided. Loki didn’t mind. This behavior was an improvement as far as he was concerned. Just to make doubly sure he would be left alone, however, he settled himself at the now-empty picnic table to grumble to himself. 

He had only just got started when a small child ran up to him. She stared at him for a good long while. Loki stared back. This one might have been one of your nieces, he supposed, but she looked the exact same as the other eight Midgardian children running rampant through the backyard. 

He scowled in the hopes that would get her to go away. It did not.

“What do you want?” he asked testily.

The child did not answer. She simply held out one of the items passed out to everyone earlier in the evening. When it became clear that she wanted him to take the object, he did so with a roll of his eyes. “Lovely. A stick. Thank you ever so much.”

“Loki?” His eyes flicked up to see you watching with concern. “What are you doing?”

Talking, he wanted to answer. Was that a problem now, too? 

But too late. The girl had grabbed his hand when he wasn’t looking. The instinct to smack her momentarily threatened to overwhelm him. Had this been Asgard, she might have been a tiny spy capable of injuring him. Given that this was Midgard, however, she probably was just a child, and Loki understood enough of the culture to know that hitting children would not make him any friends. Instead, he got up and followed her at a crouch through the surrounding throng.

“Papi!” the girl shouted–her first words spoken around Loki. 

Your father heard and turned around, beaming. “Sugar bean!” 

As he drew nearer, the girl held out her own stick. 

“Ready to light your sparkler, sweetheart?”

She nodded. Your father flicked on the lighter in his hand and pressed the flame into the tip of her stick. It erupted into silver sparks. The girl let go of Loki’s hand and sprinted, giggling, off toward the rest of her peers. He straightened to watch, only to remember just who she had left with in the tense silence that followed. 

He swallowed, hardly daring to shift his gaze enough to see your father.

“You, too?” your father asked, looking pointedly at Loki’s sparkler. When Loki did not answer, your father crossed his arms across his chest. “Not sure if giving you a weapon is a good idea, even if Mimi did.”

Was Mimi the girl? Loki had no idea, but suddenly the sparkler in his fingers seemed even stupider than before. He was done trying to impress your father, let alone the rest of your family. His mouth opened to tell your father as much. Before he could speak, a warm hand touched his shoulder. Startled, Loki glanced back to see you standing behind him.

“Come on, Dad. Give him a shot.” 

Your father still didn’t look convinced. 

“Dad, do you really think I’m such a bad judge of character that I’d date someone capable of setting our get-together on fire?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time you’d gone for the bad boy.”

You appeared somewhat cross for the first time since arriving, or at least the first time while Loki had been watching. It was your turn to fold your arms over your chest. 

“Dad, we only came because you told me you missed me and said I could bring Loki. The two of us are kind of item now. If you’re not going to treat him like family, then I’m not going to get to come to family events anymore.”

“But–”

“No buts! I love you, Dad, but I also love Loki. Unless we break up, it’s going to be both of us or none of us from now on.”

Your father’s eyes narrowed in Loki’s direction. Loki, for his part, attempted to wipe his face clean of any emotion. 

After several minutes, it must have appeared to your father that you were utterly serious. He let loose a massive breath, then practically ripped the sparkler out of Loki’s hands to light it. When he gave it back, it was only thanks to Loki’s quick reflexes that the fire didn’t strike his shirt.

“Fine,” said your father. “But only because Mimi likes him.”

With that, your father trundled off. Loki frowned after him, still clutching the sparkler in one hand. He was so focused on feeling dislike that he forgot you were there until he felt your arms wrap around him from behind.

“I’m sorry about that,” you whispered. “And for this weekend. Things’ll get better. I promise.”

He twisted so that you could see him raise a single eyebrow. “And if I don’t want to wait for things to get better?”

“Well…” 

You cocked your head to one side as you snatched one of his hands. Busy as he was waiting for your response, Loki was taken aback when you began to drag him toward the children. The one from before–Mimi, Loki supposed–brightened at his return and came racing up to hug his legs. 

“You’d probably disappoint your biggest fan,” you said.

Mimi shot him an enormous smile, then darted off to rejoin what appeared to be a rousing game of tag. Since Loki’s sparkler had gone out as well, she disappeared quickly into the dark. His chest did feel a little less tight as he wrapped one arm around you and drew you closer to his side. 

“I’m not sure that’s really incentive enough for me,” he said. “But…we’ll see.”

[sofwrites]

Each other's biggest ally

Polin Week Day 1: Favorite Quote

“No, his method of attack was a lazy smile, a well-timed joke. If Colin ever lost his temper...

Penelope shook her head slightly, unable even to fathom it. Colin would never lose his temper. At least not in front of her. He'd have to be really, truly—no, profoundly —upset to lose his temper. And that kind of fury could only be sparked by someone you really, truly, profoundly cared about.” - Romancing Mister Bridgerton, pg. 64

The one where Colin profoundly cared and had no choice but to lose his temper.

Type: One-shot, angst, sentimentalism, protective/mywife!Colin, protectective/myhusband!Penelope

Length: 3.3k

Read on ao3! Or continue under the cut

In the late months of the year 1825, Penelope Featherington Bridgerton published her debut novel titled The Wallflower. And in the early months of the year 1826, she relished in the praise of her work and suffered in the consequences of her now-public identity.

The response to her book was generally positive. Whether or not they were willing to admit it, the members of the ton were eager to uncover the scathing details surrounding Mrs. Bridgerton’s former pen name. They devoured the secrets hidden between the lines of the pages- forming their own conclusions and theories of what was fact and what was fiction.

It seemed that after many years of Penelope appearing to be invisible, the gravity of her voice was finally truly understood.

But as in all life, there were complications as well.

One gentleman in particular was quick to make his discontent known, and it was all due to just one short excerpt.

Although Beatrice did not befriend even half of the ton, she had made the acquaintance of nearly everyone at one point. And though they never realized, she scrutinized them almost as much as they disregarded her.

Even with her close examinations, she generally liked the people she met. There were bores, many in fact, as well as those with whom conversation could rarely be carried, but most were reasonably pleasant. There were exceptions, however, as there always are. One such exception was as follows:

It is an earlier season for Beatrice, one still full of wonder and disillusioned hope. She looks at the dancefloor with wistfulness in her eyes, dreaming, praying that her prince charming will notice her from across the room and ask her to take his arm.

He does not, of course. His mind is still focused fully on the small group that surrounds him, drawn to him like a shining star amongst the thinly veiled candlelight. Although the music is certainly too loud and the conversations too many, our heroine can perfectly hear his laughter through the crowded ballroom. She can hear it because she knows it better than she knows her own.

Later that evening, he’ll ask her to dance. He’ll remember her minuscule presence in his life, likely prodded by a sharp finger to his spine and a voice carrying a gentle reminder. And even though she knows why he will do so, knows that it is due to a kind sense of duty rather than true desire, she will cherish it all the same.

Right now, however, Beatrice remains at the edge of the dancefloor, her silent woes interrupted by the familiar voice of her mother.

“Beatrice, dear, this is Mr. Wetherden. Mr. Wetherden, I present to you my daughter, Beatrice Harpenton.”

Another bachelor, this one ranking second-tier rather than third. Her mother seems to have given her more credit this evening, Beatrice thinks as she looks at the familiar face.

The introduction is an unnecessary formality, of course, as are many of their rules; they were made acquaintances during her first season. Nonetheless, society calls for her to curtsy and give a gracious smile, and she obliges.

At the same time, he assesses her similarly to how he did so a few years before. And she sees it immediately, the dismissal that passes over his eyes even before he fully bends into his low bow.

Her mother leaves them to it- the stifled conversation in an even more stifling ballroom. The unfortunate girl in the canary-colored dress stands on the sidelines, trapped in conversation with yet another uninterested bachelor who is just as much forced upon her as she is on him.

He speaks endlessly, unquestionably more for his benefit than hers. He spends fourteen minutes explaining the difference between rugby and football. She suppresses three yawns and is interrupted twenty-six times throughout the topic, clearly expected to be an audience member rather than a participant.

At this time, she thinks this is Mr. Wetherden’s worst offense. Later on, when she is years older, Beatrice discovers that she was sorely mistaken in her youth. That without the cautionary lights of London (albeit often cloudy and forgiving), he is much worse.

She later on learns about his propensity to unwilling women. To frightened young housemaids who are often not given the options that women of a higher class are granted.

Our heroine also finds out later exactly how commonplace such a tendency is. And with it, her vision of social seasons- the one with balls and picnics and musicales- begins to splinter.

Penelope hadn’t named him, of course. She hadn’t named anyone directly.

She couldn’t publish a memoir, not really. Even though she was related to a fine variation of important characters in society, she couldn’t put such a strain on her family, and particularly not on her husband. Her husband, her lovely, amazing husband who supported her through the entire process even despite the fact that so much of their own private history was laid out in the pages of her novel. Penelope had written the truth, which hadn’t been entirely pretty. But Colin had agreed with her that the truth was more important than sheltering their secrets.

But even though she couldn’t publish a direct recounting of her life and experiences with the ton, she’d been unwilling to just hide behind fabricated stories.

Penelope’s telling of that night at the ball wasn’t completely factual. She did not know how many times Phillip Cavender interrupted her during their conversation, nor whether or not Colin had even been present that evening. But the details of the matter weren’t as important to her as shedding light on the entire situation.

She’d been young and naive during her first few seasons, believing that a few nasty comments and looks were really the worst of what society had to offer. Later on, she’d found out that she had been wrong, and that there was much worse than she’d ever known. And when her sister-in-law, Sophie, had recounted the night she and Benedict had met (well, met again), Penelope knew that she had to shed light on the matter. She had to make it clear what happened outside of the fancy dresses and giggling parties.

But as mentioned, such decisions did not come without their objections.

“Thank God, they’re leaving.”

The words came from just a few feet behind them, full of indignancy and bitterness. The couple had been walking together, arm-in-arm, towards the door, quite eager to return home for the evening.

They’d been attending an intimate house party at the request of the gentleman’s mother. She’d been unable to make her attendance that evening and had asked that her son and his wife go in her stead. They hadn’t been particularly excited about the prospect, but they’d agreed for her.

The party itself hadn’t been bad. The food was good, the music was pleasant, and almost everyone in attendance had offered the woman praise for her work. Though they hadn’t exactly been excited to attend, the evening hadn’t been at all poor.

That was, until they’d been nearing the exit and heard the troublesome remark behind them.

Colin glanced down at his wife, who grimaced, her nose scrunching as her eyes closed. They’d been met with a number of sneers and snide comments in the last few weeks, but they never became easier to hear.

With a small sigh, he turned them both around, looking directly at the man holding a glass of port too large and wearing a lip too curled.

Colin gave him a smile, the familiar one he used whenever he was looking at something that both irritated and mildly amused him. “Didn’t see you there, Cavender. So nice of you to offer us a sendoff.”

The opposing man’s mouth turned downwards, a stark contrast to the grin still on Colin’s face. Penelope swallowed, quickly cutting in. “We really must be getting home.”

With a pointed look directed towards her husband, she began pulling him back towards the door. Though Penelope would have loved to see Phillip Cavender get put into his place, she knew far better than to spar with a man holding a petty vendetta.

But before they’d even fully turned around, there was a mocking bark of laughter, followed by a slight slurring of words. “You do everything she tells you then? Follow her around like a lapdog?”

This time, Colin’s brow lifted ever so slightly, the same half-smile still imprinted on his lips. Penelope felt an uncomfortable heat rising up her neck as she reluctantly turned from the door again.

“If it means getting to share my life with this incredible woman,” Colin sent her a small wink before shrugging, “Then, by all means, call me a lapdog.”

There was some tittering around them by the small audience they’d attracted. With a quick glance, Penelope could see the angry lurch in Cavender’s throat, the narrowing of his eyes, the twitching of his fingers as they tightened around his glass.

Please, just let it go. Let us just leave and go home.

But he didn’t. Of course, he didn’t.

“I know what lies she’s spread about me.”

���Oh?” Colin’s face took on a thoughtful expression, one that might have been convincing in any other circumstance. “I don’t recall ever hearing my wife mentioning you.”

Cavender’s glare deepened. “In that bloody book of hers.”

Penelope cringed inwardly as she felt the twitch of Colin’s hand in hers. Her eyes darted around the room as an overwhelming sense of dread engulfed her. The ballroom was small and the guests were bored, and a public row was certainly enough to draw a crowd- one that was full of prying eyes and listening ears.

Colin’s face remained the picture of serenity even though Penelope could sense the angry heat rising from him. It was something she could feel in him that others always missed, a secret fire that he did so well in masking.

Looking at the other man, Colin let out a sigh, one that was forcibly tired, as though he were speaking down to an overly emotional child. “I can assure you that all the characters in my wife’s novel were fabricated. And if you saw yourself in one of the less attractive personages, then I’d venture to say that such is simply a reflection of your own self-image.”

The whispers around them grew, and Cavender sputtered for a moment, clearly caught off guard by the easy taunt. But his surprise only lasted a moment before he hardened once more.

A man with a petty vendetta did not often allow himself to be diverted.

His eyes flickered to Penelope before they returned to Colin and he sneered. “You realize that she’s made you out to be an ass, don’t you? You can act high and mighty, Bridgerton, but the wife you so proudly boast has fashioned you into the biggest fool in all of London.”

It was at this jab that Penelope frowned, feeling her own prickle of anger. And for the first time in the nasty exchange, she turned directly to their shared foe, a hard, determined look set on her face. “Excuse me, Mr. Cavender, but I must ask that you don’t speak to my husband that way.”

She could almost see his eyes flash in fury as they set themselves on her. But before he could give the biting retort that was no doubt resting on his tongue-

“And I’d suggest that you consult a dictionary to properly understand the concept of fiction.” Colin’s tone was relaxed, just a sprinkle of mocking mixed into it. But Penelope could feel the tension in him, the protective edge that mirrored her own.

Cavender’s gaze shifted back to Colin, his rage appearing a bit more controlled as they listened to the snickering that surrounded them. Slowly, his mouth thinned into a tight line, and he took a step closer to the couple. By instinct, Colin angled himself in front of Penelope as her grip on his hand tightened.

He was just a few feet away from them when he finally spoke, a voice so low that it was barely audible over the murmurs. “And I’d recommend that you consider taking yourself and that bitch of a wife,” his eyes darted to Penelope for a moment, “out of town.”

And it was this comment that wiped the smile completely off of Colin’s face, along with any attempt of levity.

It was as if a chill had passed over, one that was both icy and burning at the same time. He stiffened like a board, a wave of unmistakable anger coming over him. And when his words came, they were low and even, colder than anyone had ever thought possible from Colin Bridgerton.

“You would do well to avoid threatening my family, Cavender.”

Though there was a slight tinge of red on his face, Phillip Cavender did not retreat. Instead, he took another step forward. “And why is that, Bridgerton?”

Penelope could see the muscles in Colin’s jaw moving from where she was angled, could practically feel the heat radiating off of his body. She’d seen him angry before, furious even, but this was different. This was so much more.

She wasn’t frightened, not by Colin nor by the man standing across from them. Fright was not why she wanted this to stop.

She didn’t want her husband’s anger to be made into a form of entertainment at a party. For him to have to serve the role of gallant protector whenever she upset someone. So, she attempted to silently will him to calm down, running a featherlight thumb across the surface of his hand.

But Colin wanted to finish what they’d started and instead let go of her and took his own step forward, almost shielding her completely.

“I think we all know that I have more than enough relatives to run you out of town,” he said, eyes locked on Cavender.

There was a flash of worry that crossed his face, but it was quickly forced away by a snort. “Is that meant to scare me? The threat of a duke and a viscount?”

Colin didn’t falter. Instead, his head tilted as he considered the man, considered the shaking fingers and the smell of alcohol on his breath. He’d never been a violent man by nature, even having grown up with two older brothers. He preferred words when he fought, and they almost always gave him his victories. He wasn’t opposed to physical repercussions, but he knew that a private gathering was not the place or time.

He looked Cavender directly in the eyes, speaking in a low, clear voice. “I will ensure that you are ruined, that is a promise.”

And because he couldn’t help himself, “And if that is not enough, be rest assured that we will do worse. My only qualm in doing it myself is that my brother would be disappointed he wasn’t able to help.”

There was a silence in the room that followed as Cavender glowered at him. His eyes darkened in fury as his face reddened, trying to figure out how far Colin could really go.

But there was something in Colin’s threat that didn’t allow for any consideration that he might have been exaggerating. Perhaps it was the definitive and resolute tone in his voice, or the strength behind his gaze, or the tight set of his jaw.

Or perhaps it was because Colin Bridgerton wasn’t the type to quicken to anger. Wasn’t the type to have a temper or even hint at unpleasantry.

Whatever it was, it made Cavender finally break eye contact and step back. He turned away, taking another large swig of port.

Colin could hear the pounding in his ears as he looked at the pathetic man, anger still coursing through him. But then he felt a warm hand lace through his, and the red glare of the world began melting away. Penelope was whispering something, her voice calm and soothing. He squeezed her hand in understanding but kept his gaze on Cavender.

There was a familiar casualness when Colin spoke this time, but it was threaded with venom. “Do not forget what I’ve said.”

And with that, he turned to his wife and pressed a kiss into her hair.

“Good night,” Penelope nodded to the remainder of the crowd, who finally had the decency to look away.

A few minutes later, when they were finally in a carriage returning to their home, Penelope sighed. With her eyes glued to her skirts, she whispered, “I’m so sorry, Colin.”

He looked at her thoughtfully, taking in a deep inhale of breath.

He’d been scared after the reveal of her identity, terrified even. There were evenings where he’d lie awake in bed and imagine all of the awful things that could happen to the person who was his entire world. And though they never spoke of such worries aloud, he knew that she was just as aware as he was.

Italy had been like taking a deep breath after being underwater for too long. There, no one cared or knew, and the only threat they faced was the harsh sun.

And then Penelope was pregnant, and a new light was added to his life, one that shifted his fears elsewhere.

Then they became a family of three, and Colin was thrilled. He still worried, of course, but his joy outweighed everything else.

Old wounds had been reopened in the recent weeks, that was for certain. But it did not mean that he blamed Penelope for them.

So, Colin pulled her into his side and tucked her head under his chin. “You have nothing to apologize for. We both agreed that you did the right thing.”

For a few moments, she said nothing, just listened to the sound of his heartbeat and the wheels on cobblestones. And though he couldn’t see her, Colin could sense in the silence that she was crying. Wordlessly, he handed her a handkerchief.

Penelope dabbed at her eyes a few times before leaning back to look at him. “I didn’t want to force you into this position.”

He smiled and lifted a hand to stroke her cheek, feeling the familiar warmth of her skin. “I watch you every day with nothing but awe, Penelope. I love you, I’m proud of you. And I will gladly stand by you through anything.”

Her eyes moved slowly as they crossed his face, searching for any hesitance. There was none, not even a hint of resistance.

Instead, there was so much love that it overwhelmed her, struck her with the same shock that it had years before. It was a love that mirrored her own, a fierce desire to protect and support another with as much reverence as one did for themself. It was one that never faltered even in the most difficult of times.

Her eyes were glossy when her hand reached up to meet his, and the smile on her lips was weak but true. “I love you so much. And I can’t believe that I’ve become so lucky in my life to have you by my side.”

And with that, they settled into their drive home, sharing whispered conversations and watery chuckles.

They still had a long road ahead of them, of that they were sure. But they knew that they would cross it together.

[pars-ley]

Your eyes tell

Pairing: Prince Jungkook x Female Reader

Summary: When your best friend’s a prince and inherits the throne, he needs to find a wife to rule alongside him as Queen, you’re more than happy to help him choose an eligible bachelorette. But what happens when you, who only wants to marry for love, are forced to be one of the participants?  

Rating: (SFW) 13+

Genre: Royal au / Arranged marriage au / Angst / Fluff / Unrequited love

Word Count: 6400

Warnings: Serious angst. It will make you sick.

Prompts: Everything makes sense when you’re by my side. + I didn’t believe in love, not until I met you.

A/N: This is for the Golden Closet Network’s ‘Jungkook Birthday Project’ I stepped out of my comfort zone for this one, so hopefully it paid off. It’s from their two different perspectives. Italic font is Jungkook, normal font is reader. A big shout and a hell of a lot of thanks to @wheresmymoniat​ for helping me endlessly, especially through some serious writers block with the ending. She’s a darling.

Banner: @yeojaa​ honestly, she’s a goddess who went above and beyond to help me with this when I was struggling and offered out of the kindness of her heart, she also made the break lines for me cause she’s the BEST💕😘! 

Beta reader: @papillonsgf​ 😘

Meet Prince Jungkook...

As you hear the announcement escape his mouth, like a 'breaking news' headline silently screaming at you from behind bold, black print, all you can do is stare. The calmness in his voice, unmatched to his words echoing around in your mind, bouncing off the emptiness that has overcome you.

Your eyes sweep over him, the dark circles hanging heavy under his eyes, the exhaustion etched in his handsome face and the anxiety that rolls off him in waves.

A pain in your chest pulls at your emotions, a direct line to your heart just for him. Your body flung itself at him before you had time to register the action.

His arms curl around your waist, squeezing you, keeping you locked in place. His fingers digging into your back, making your anxiety for him creep up into your throat. You try to swallow it down, wanting to be strong for him but your mouth is suddenly without moisture

Your best friend is going to be King of Kalinia, that much you knew and that’s what is expected of a Prince but not now, not yet. 

All you can do is stand there, unmoving while he relays the details of his father's illness and his decision to step down from the throne. Meaning, all of it falling onto Jungkook’s shoulders. 

How could he bear all that weight on his own? Any normal man would crumble.

However, he is not any normal man, he is strong, determined, loyal, generous and one of the kindest men you know. But seeing him now, a shadow of all you know he is, you want to take it all away and harbour the load yourself, just to give him his freedom a little bit longer. 

The studying and travelling he’s been doing, all that now comes to an immediate halt, just as he had started to live his own life, it all comes crashing down around him. 

It’s your job to pick up the pieces and you’re more than happy to assume that role but it also means that your plans for travelling would have to be put on hold too. 

Your arrangement had been to meet Jungkook in Italy and travel around Europe together over the course of 2 months before returning to continue studies, but the idea of visiting these places alone, without him by your side, now seems a lot less appealing.

His slightly painful grip on your back, fingernails desperately digging in to provide some kind of anchorage for him, pulls you back into the present.

"Hey," you lean away so you can cradle his face in your hands. "It's just me right now, you can be honest. You don't have to pretend with me."

His wide eyes seem to tremble as they meet yours. "I just wasn't expecting this so soon." His voice interrupts the silence, slicing through it like a knife straight into your gut at his words. “I don't feel...ready for this. I thought I’d have more time to prepare and now, I have to find a wife. A WIFE!” 

The sorrow and anguish that fill his eyes overwhelm you with a heaviness in your chest, your pumping organ sinking like a rock to the pit of your stomach. But your mind is frozen, stuck on those last words you hear them rattling, echoing around in your mind, crashing against any thoughts you had like giant waves against rock. Wife? WIFE!

The ascending King cannot rule without a Queen by his side. That is the law of your country and the way it’s always been. You knew this, so why do you feel this way? How exactly do you feel? Sick. Panicked. Sombre. All of the above maybe? You just feel for the hardships that your friend is facing, that’s all it is, you tell yourself.

“I know, I know this has come as a shock but let me tell you, you’re meant to be King and you’re ready, even if you don’t feel like it. I have complete faith in you, Kook and I’ll be here every step of the way. I’ll even help you choose the right...wife.” You hesitate slightly, the words tasting like ash in your mouth.

He pulls you to him again. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Well, after he’s married and King, he’ll have to do without you. There'll be someone new to take care of him and do all the things you do together; to comfort him like this, to spend evenings star gazing and staring at the moon, to pick flowers in the Queen’s garden and have secret picnics in the meadows off grounds.

All of these moments with him won’t exist anymore. 

You feel empty at the thought. Almost as if someone reached inside and stole the most vital parts of you and put them on display behind an inaccessible, glass cage to watch beating and working without you.

As you cling to him, fingers gripped in his hair, cheek resting atop of his head, cradling him like your most precious possession, a tear escapes.

Your friend is slipping through your fingers, down into the depths of a world you won’t be able to follow and there's nothing you can do to stop it. You will lose him, that much you are sure of.

You glance over, her expression a smooth and flawless mask, never giving anything away. But you know her well enough to know that something has changed. She has not been the same since you revealed the news of your new-to-be title three weeks ago. 

Her usual brilliant, almost blinding light had dimmed into a burnt out candle, flickering on the last threads of its wick. No matter what you say to her she just smiles and says ‘I’m fine’. You might be clueless but you are determined to discover what’s changed.

As you sit here, discussing who, out of the fourteen eligible bachelorettes in the Kingdom, is most suited for being your future wife and Queen, you can’t help but find yourself thinking of only one. 

The one you wish you could have, the one you’d give anything to spend the rest of your days with but is the one who would never see you in such a way. 

As she sits across from you, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, her delicate fingers tracing down her neck. God, how you longed for it to be you caressing her so tenderly, to be able to hold her and tell her what she means to you, to have her by your side instead of these paper faces staring up at you waiting for paper rings. All of them from good families, smart, pretty, the perfect persona for the outside world to see but completely and utterly tedious to you. There wasn’t a single thing written in this bleak print that held your interest even a fraction of the way y/n could. 

“Your majesty?” An indistinct voice snaps you out of your trance.

Her eyes flash up to meet yours and you look away quickly, hoping no one has noticed your forlorn stare at the true object of your affection.

“Yes?” You reply, trying to seem present in the room discussing your future as if you weren’t even here.

“Who are you choosing, your majesty?” An advisor asks nervously.

Her. Always her. A thousand times over. In this life and the next and any other after that may follow. 

“We need a final three, so we can move on to the next round of tests.”

Round? Tests? This was your life and here it is being discussed as if it were a gameshow. 

Your stomach twists, fear rises in your throat making it feel tight. You take a gulp of water, allowing the coolness to sooth you, and look at the sheets placed in front of you. The faces blurring along with the writing. 

“Y/n, what are your opinions?” You ask, genuinely curious who she’d pick for you. 

She’d choose someone who was strong enough to rule but also sensitive enough to be a decent match for you and that was all you could hope for at this point, a decent match. The three words everyone aspires to describe their life partner.

You wait with baited breath for her response, somewhere deep down in the pits of your heart where hope was long ago locked away and buried beneath years of friendly rubble, it makes an alarming surprise visit, breaking through the debris with ease. You cling to the book of secrets that’s been held captive there in a vault created from torment and in the dark corners you’re on your knees, praying to a god you don’t think will listen. Praying you hear her utter all the impossible things you know she never will. The desperation inside you, clawing to escape out of the refined, solid cage you built, you’re clenched fists under the table fighting to keep it down along with your breakfast.

Everything stills and slowly starts to wither away back to its original place, the place where it belongs, when she nonchalantly reads off three names...none of them hers.

"You've been ordered to participate y/n." The royal adviser informs you, his words ringing like high-pitched sirens in your ears. 

"I'm sorry, ordered by whom?" You frown, not understanding, the very idea of what he’s suggesting baffling your mind.

He sighs awkwardly, it’s obvious he did not want to be the one standing in front of you with your hot molten glare on him.

"Who gave the order?” You persist, when his silence is the only response you receive.  

He looks down, away from your blazing eyes. “Her majesty, the Queen.”

You freeze, the ground feeling as if it would break away under your feet. What!? Why would she force you to participate in this? She knows you do not want to be Jungkook’s wife and that he would not want you to be his? 

This makes no sense. You’ve always had such a lovely relationship with his parents. When you befriended Jungkook, they welcomed you in with open arms and loving smiles, encouraged your friendship and supported you with every decision along the way, so why do this? 

“I need to speak with her majesty.” You say through gritted teeth, not only from anger but your attempt at trying to keep down the bile you can feel burning your throat like lava.

He gives you a sharp nod and leads you to her quarters, not that you needed to be shown, you know this castle like the back of your hand, everything in it was both familiar and safe. 

As he announces you, you swallow, desperate to wet your dry throat pinching the air that passes with every breath. You hold back your cough in favour of clearing your throat, hoping to relieve the desert patch you feel, gravel grazing your insides down into the pit of your stomach.

When you enter she greets you with a broad, bright smile, a smile that contrasts so drastically to how you feel and, for once, you can’t bear to return it.

Her face drops slightly, but you see a twinkle of amusement in her eyes that makes your blood boil hot and irate in your veins. “Oh y/n, don’t pout, it doesn’t suit you.” She pats the seat next to her on her plush ornate sofa where she resides and places her book on the table in front.

You close the distance between you and sit rather woodenly at her side.

“The rules are the rules y/n, it’s nothing personal but I wouldn’t be doing my duty if I treated you differently. You know that.” Her eyes are so honest, a window right into her soul, lighting up and giving you a glimpse as to what it’s like to play her role. 

“But I can’t be his wife!” You exclaim. “He would never want me that way.” You urge, shaking your head at the sheer hilarity of the idea.

You’re met with a poker straight stare, unmoving, her skin still smooth after all these years, unreadable and hard as stone. Picture perfect, a royal portrait ready to be framed with gold. “If that’s the case, what are you worried about?”

You open your mouth to respond but the words are squeezed around your panic induced, contracting throat. Your words seem far away, as you grapple desperately for them.

She places a gentle hand on your knee, the touch calming you instantly. "Y/n listen to me, I know this whole situation has come as a shock to you and to Jungkook, believe me it's still processing for the King and I, but this is our life, however unfortunate, we have a duty. Now, you are not bound to this life by any means, but participating in this is your duty." 

She watches you for a moment, her intense gaze making you shift in your seat, as if she was seeing straight into you, everything you held laid bare for her own personal exhibit. "I know it’s hard, the idea that someone will take your place at his side, but he needs a wife and we know you don't want it to be you." Her piercing eyes driving a quick, sharp needle into yours, you look away unable to hold her intruding stare.

"Of course not." You retort with a snort.

She sits back on her sofa, her posture softening, relaxing against the cushioned back. She smiles staring at her hands placed in her lap, as if amused by an inside joke you're not privy to.

"You need to start listening to your heart more than your head, y/n, it will save you a lot of heartbreak in the future." 

Perplexed by this unexpected turn in conversation you find yourself frowning. "What do you mean?" 

Kindness stretching her mouth into a friendly curve. "My child, it seems I know you better than you know yourself. Your eyes tell."

"Tell what?" You shake your head trying to clear the mud in your mind, making her words impossible to understand.

"Everything." She sighs and stands. "I'm afraid I cannot get you out of this but as you said, you know he won't choose you, so there's no need to panic, is there?" 

She saunters gracefully out of the room leaving you with only your bewildered thoughts.

There's a double meaning in her last words but you struggle to determine what it could be.

And how would she know you better than you do? There's a hint of anxiety at what she saw in your eyes, at what you'd apparently given away to her. Your thoughts race, unable to connect her words to your reasoning and you leave the room feeling more frustrated and perplexed than when you entered.

You lean over the pages of the final women you have to choose from, head down eyes unwavering from the same spot you’ve been looking at for what feels like a lifetime. You’ve gone from three possible wives to four, the latter you’re sure if you take your eyes off the page it will disappear before you. 

Can this be real? Did she agree to this? Did she nominate herself to take part? Hope blossoms dangerously in your chest, flowering around your heart, encasing it in a prison of promise. A prison you’re creating, you know it but cannot stop. Your thoughts run away with you, visions of your dreams becoming reality within your grasp. 

You and her sneaking off grounds for picnics and play dates in the sun, trekking through the forest and taking the row boat out around the river bend, travelling to Paris and visiting the Notre Dame; somewhere she’s always wanted to go, the two of you snapping your own love lock on a branch of a tree with your initials entwined together and throwing away the keys in a nearby river. All the hopeless romantic things you’ve wanted to do, becoming a possibility, the excitement causing butterflies to fly rampantly in your stomach.

You push your chair out, finding your feet and rushing out of the room to find her. 

As you parade down the golden ornate halls, feeling as though you’re being carried by eagles wings, floating across the grounds being pulled in her direction. Her face; the only thing guiding your vision, maybe cupid’s arrow finally aimed in the direction you were hoping for, maybe god finally heard you. 

You find her by the fountains, her favourite place here, sitting staring at the water as if it holds the answers to all life’s problems. She hears your approach, her eyes snapping up to yours before quickly looking away to hide the tears you’ve already seen and brushing her face with her sleeve. 

You step down off the wings, coming crashing back down to earth, the butterflies turning to acid in your stomach and tasting it in your mouth as you rush to her side. Pulling her against you, wrapping her up in a cocoon of comfort and love. 

“Y/n, what’s wrong? Tell me.” You urge, panic tightening your gut, squeezing your insides in a vice. 

“I’m sure you’ve seen. I’ve been forced to participate in your bride-to-be pageant.” She spits bitter words aimed at you, hope clams up and collapses inside you. 

You realise how foolish you’d been to let yourself believe that she could want this like you crave, that she could see you anything like how you admire her, that she could feel for you the way you worship her. Your heart feels heavy, sinking in your chest and resting in the loveless hole gaping open, revealing your insides. The dullness overtakes you, seizing your limbs one by one, you’re unable to listen to the words she angrily ranting. A cloud of darkness swallowing you whole and you gladly take it by the hand, allowing it to draw you in. Maybe you’d forget if you stayed in there, in the dark. Maybe you’d forget about her if you just gave yourself the chance. 

She doesn’t want this, she doesn’t want you, that much is clear. So how can you choose her? Even if that is what you truly and honestly desire more than anything. You could not put her through that. She deserves to feel the way you do about someone, even if that person can’t be you, she deserves it, she deserves love. It was time to release her, to let her go. 

The thought had tears prick in your eyes, you quickly blink them away. 

“You don’t have to worry Y/n, it’s just a formal procedure. I won’t choose you, you’re off the hook.” The words leave you quickly, before you change your mind and sound like they belong to someone else. You would never say them, would you?

She pauses and looks up at you, her tear stained cheeks; you itched to reach out and wipe the shiny, salty trails away but you clench your hand into a fist to stop yourself. “You won’t?” She asks in disbelief.

“Of course not.” You try to give her a reassuring smile but it feels false, painted on like the many royal portraits you grew up staring at.

She stares back out at the fountain, back stiff against you. Your arms fall loosely away from her. “Oh, well, that’s a relief.” She sighs and yet, her reaction perplexes you. You thought she’d seem happier, instead she just seems blank. 

“Hey, chin up.” You nudge her jaw with your fist, a friendly gesture you had done many times. When she arches away from it, the action makes your insides twist, unable to understand. 

What have you done wrong? You couldn't win, nothing seemed like the right decision anymore.

Why did she seem to be slipping further and further away from you? Even though she sat right next to you, your arms lightly touching at the proximity, she had never felt further away from you. Just out of reach of your grasp.

He had spoken the words you hoped for and yet, you couldn't describe this overwhelming feeling that had draped over you almost instantly, like a blanket of despair. It has enveloped you more and more over the passing weeks.

As you watch him and her, his chosen bride, from your perch of loneliness you felt annoyance grow inside you. You're his friend, his best friend, you should be happy if he's happy. 

You watch him smile at her, occasionally he might take her hand in his or tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Things he used to do with you, but it seems different with her, more intimate. And yet it’s funny how you know neither of them have romantic feelings for one another, it's all a façade, it’s all forced. 

Why would anyone want to live like that? A loveless marriage. You couldn't wrap your head around the concept.

Was she so desperate to become queen? It's not like she has much of a choice though, those of you within certain households, certain names and certain social standing had a duty. It has been drummed into you since you can remember. That had only acted to make you more determined not to live like that.

You were free, he'd told you himself and yet you couldn't help but sit here; consumed by hopelessness.

Not for yourself surely, but for him. He now had to live the life you dread.

Maybe you should have said you'd marry him, put your selfishness aside and given him a friend in marriage instead of a stranger but it was too late now. Any hope of saving him was out of your reach, all you could do was watch as he made the biggest mistake of his life.

He should be with someone who knows when he's upset just by the look in his wide eyes, who knows each crease in his face when it crinkles when he smiles, who knows each line of his secret tattoos he always keeps hidden. He needs someone he can be himself with, someone who would do anything to see him happy, someone who would do everything to protect him and keep him safe. Someone he can have adventures with as well as make tough decisions with, someone who will bear him beautiful children and raise them to be just as loving and kind as him. He deserves all that and more. 

Miss what's-her-name will never be able to give him that. She'll never be good enough. She'll never know what he wants or needs, not like you would.

You know him better than anyone. You could make him happy. So why wouldn't he pick you?

If he's not choosing for love why wouldn't you be first choice, surely that's obvious. Then again, why should you want him to choose you? 

You were free to marry whoever you wanted. So, why now did the thought of Jungkook marrying her weigh you down with a rock in your gut, consuming you, making it impossible for you to move without thinking of anything other than her being with him. Touching him. Possibly loving him. Being his wife and her stomach being full with his children. 

Why did it burn you so much you could hardly breath? Clawing for air with ragged breaths, you had to uproot your feet from their planted spot and go. Go anywhere the sickening sight of them wasn't, the last image of them walking through the palace gardens hand in hand was enough to overflow the salty dam in your eyes, crumbling with your resolve to hold it in. Your realisation, as you turn away from him, hitting you like a ton of bricks. 

The blanket of night that had been covering you - concealing you from the light, from the truth, had finally been lifted. 

How could you not have seen it? 

How could you not have known?

The way he could make you smile through anything, or the way your stomach fluttered sometimes in his presence, or the way he knew you better than anyone and always seemed to know what you were thinking. 

He was your glowing, peaceful moon lighting up the dark sky.  The colourful morning sunrise, warming the chill of the night. The roots of your tree, keeping you grounded and yet the bright blossoms in the field bringing you comfort. 

After all these years...you finally understood.

You tuck a stray strand of hair behind Charlotte’s ear, the action almost mechanical, something you should do as opposed to something you want to. 

With y/n it was an excuse to feel her skin against your fingers, a chance to give her a caring caress and a subtle way to show her how you care. It fell on deaf ears or blind eyes, rather. All your efforts to show her your feelings, to attempt to get her to notice your heart, wide open and ready for the taking, went unnoticed. Maybe you should have uttered the words into her ear one day, laying in the meadow, basking under the sun.

But you didn’t. 

You’ve made your decision. It’s Charlotte. She is to be your wife and your queen. 

Perhaps, one day, you might feel something more deeply than the awkward discomfort making your toes curl. After all, tomorrow you will be standing in the palace with an audience and a live broadcast as you announce your bride and their queen to be. 

It's your duty, there's no escaping it, you know this. And yet, your chest is weighed down, tight with an anchor pulling you underwater as you fight and kick against the waves of emotions crashing against you. Clawing your way to the surface and fighting for breath as hopelessness fills your lungs. The box your heart was kept in for her, now feels like an empty cage. Hollow. She left, not physically but in spirit, and took your beating organ with her, the life slowly draining in her absence.

But here you are still standing, unable to give up and let go. 

You had to. You needed to move on and away from her, perhaps one day you'll be able to stop picturing her face, hearing her laugh or the smell of her skin.

Your agonising thoughts running rampant in your mind made you want to scream up at the sky. At a god you were rapidly losing faith in.

You needed to be alone and get yourself together. 

You made your excuses, apologising to your fiancé - an invisible noose around your neck pulling tight from the very thought of who she was to you and who she would be for the rest of your life - and left, albeit rather abruptly. 

Rushing to the stables and guiding your horse out of palace grounds, racing away from decision making and royal duty.

The wind against your face, cool air relentless as you speed across fields but cooling your burning skin, ablaze with frustration. The sound of hooves thundering against the ground seem to echo out around you in otherworldly quiet, giving away your position to everyone. 

They'll search for you soon, you know this but you just need to breathe. You need to feel your lungs expanding and shrinking on their own, moving how they should, without barbed wire squeezing around them, digging in with every draw in of air and stopping you short. 

You needed a last moment of freedom, before the tight noose of your responsibilities squeezed around your neck and choked you.

Your breathing came hard and harsh as you pushed your horse as fast as he could go, until the meadow came into view, your meadow and hers. You'd ended up here, again. This special place, holding so many memories.

You climb off your horse and sink down into the grass, each blade a page of remembrance tying the two of you together. A bond you thought indestructible and yet, here you are desperately clinging onto her in fistfuls of grass.

You understood, your life is on the cusp of changing forever, no going back, it's a life she cannot be a part of in the same way. Of course she'd want to move away from it all, if you could…it's irrelevant because you can't.

Duty to country before anything and everything else. Being a good ruler should be your main concern right now. And yet, you are plagued with the thought…'what if i had told her?' 

What if.

Would it have made any difference? Probably not.

Would your friendship have been ruined? Probably.

But at least, if you had been brave enough to utter the words, even once, then you wouldn't feel as incomplete as you do right now. On your knees, gripping onto the turf as if to hold you in place, head against the ground and eyes squeezed shut.

If there's one last thing you should say, even to unburden yourself after all these years and remove the heavy shawl of emotion that’s been draped across your shoulders, weighing you down, it should be your truth. Finally.

Not for any expectation of reciprocation but to know that you did everything you could. No regrets when you look back at the choice you've had to make.

Just the truth.

The horse was already moving as you had one foot in the rung of the saddle and the other straddling across it. 

"Jungkook's missing." The words from the royal advisor replay anxiously in your head, making your heart pound violently against your ribs, playing its own panicked score.

He left the palace hours ago on his horse and hasn't been seen since. The way your gut twists at the direction your thoughts take has your fists clenched painfully around the reigns.

You bolt out of the palace gates, hoping you know exactly where he'll be. 

Trees whip past you at alarming speed but you dare not slow down. You need him to be ok. You need him to hear what you have to say. You need him.

Scanning the distance frantically, looking for the break in the trees, revealing the meadow, your heart almost stops when your eyes finally land upon it. 

You spot his horse first, then see his hunched figure leaning over in the grass and fear takes your heart and locks it in a vice grip so painful tears fill your wild eyes.

You're already climbing off before the hooves have stilled.

"Jungkook!" You hear his name in a strangled scream and realise it's you the distraught voice has escaped from.

As you sprint in his direction, he sits straight up, surprised eyes shooting up to you and relief washes over you like rough waves crashing against the shore.

Your body collides heavily with his, a thump sounding out all around you into the usually calming silence. The air leaves his lungs in a hiss as he's flung backwards to the ground. 

You squeeze your arms around him, holding him so close and so tight, frightened he'll be carried off into the wind like the seeds from the dandelion puff balls surrounding you.

His arms hesitantly wrap around your waist as if worried you'll break. 

You pull yourself back to look at his beautiful face, to make sure he's ok and in one piece but the shock that widens his doe-like eyes momentarily distracts you.

"Y/n, what's wrong!?" He fusses, wiping softly at your tear trails with gentle thumbs. Cradling your face in his hands, worry lines wrinkling his forehead as if he has reason to worry about you.

Hot tears fall fervently from your eyes, unable to be stopped. You smile at him, tracing his smooth cheekbones and sharp jawline with your fingers. 

Seeing him and looking into his eyes in this moment, it's undeniable your heart belongs to him.

How you never realised is truly mind blowing, it's so obvious now, all your confusing thoughts and feelings towards this entire situation suddenly made clear. 

Overwhelmed to the point your chest is so full of him it feels ready to burst, sprinkling your special place with heart-shaped confetti etched with his name. 

"I have to tell you something, before it's too late." You say taking a deep breath and straightening your back with determination, as you sit almost on his lap.

His worrying eyes search yours, frantically going from one to the other, trying to read you, trying to find answers to unasked questions.

"Over the past few weeks, I've been trying to understand...all of the memories we've made, and the places we've spent time together, they're very special to me, I hope you know that? I hold them very dear. And I was afraid of you having this other person to share them with and that i would be pushed out —"

"Y/n, I would never do that." He insisted, cupping your face in his hand. He means it too, it's written all over his face, your own personal scripture of truth.

"I know." You say softly, smiling and interrupting him before you lose your nerve to continue. "My point is, I thought it was the idea of being replaced by her that was bothering me so much but I realised something…I've been an absolute idiot." You laugh to yourself, feeling freer than ever. 

He stares back at you with bewildered amusement.

"It's never been where we were or what we did that made everything so special...it was you. You are the centre of it all. You're the person who knows me better than anyone. You're the one who makes me endlessly and purely happy. You make me feel safe and protected. You are...home. Everything makes sense when you’re by my side. Wherever you are, I want to be. Whether that be as your wife, your queen or just your friend...if your decision is still to be with Charlotte, I will support you throughout —"

"Wait, I'm confused. At the fountain the other day,  you were distraught at the idea of marrying me, you were relieved when I told you I wouldn't choose you?"

You look down at your hands that are now in your lap, ashamed you didn't realise then in that moment what is so clear to you now. 

"I didn't understand then. But I wasn't relieved, my heart felt like it was caving in on itself. I didn't want to be in the running because I never thought you'd choose me. I told myself I didn't want you to, I didn't want to be a part of it, when the actual truth of it is I wanted to be your only choice, not the best out of a bad bunch but I couldn't face the idea that you might not choose me."

You feel your cheeks tinge crimson from your words, feeling sheepish for your naivety. 

You peek up at him shyly through your lashes. He's frozen and wide eyed, staring at you curiously.

"So what exactly are you saying y/n? So I can understand this correctly." His quiet, breathy voice makes your heart pound faster and harder than ever. Each thrum vibrating through you with the sound of his name to accompany its beat.

You gulp loudly, digging deep for your last ounce of courage, to utter the words. To say them out loud makes it real, equally as the possibility of affirmation or rejection. You take another breath, your eyes meeting his, those pools of ebony you could so easily get lost in. "I'm in love with you."

The silence that follows is almost deafening as you prepare yourself for a sweet, gentle refusal. But you're perplexed when you see his perfect lips upturn and stretch, beaming at you like a ray of sunshine. He moves forward to you quickly, you lean in anticipating his next words. But when his lips crush against yours instead, it doesn’t register for a moment or two, you stiffen before your body's primal response takes over and your hands find their way up into his hair, skating your fingers through his silky locks.

The feel of his soft mouth on yours was undeniably alluring, pulling you in deeper with each movement of his lips. Your heart pounds frantic in your chest as the feel of his hands around your waist, holding you flush against him, your bodies moulded tight almost as one was enough to enthral you entirely. When he abruptly pulls back, you feel cold and needy. Your heart, now an open wound, seared by his kiss, bleeding love uncontrollably. 

He holds your face in his hands, foreheads touching and breathing heavy. “How I have longed to hear you say those words.” He whispers.

Your eyes bulge at his admission but as you open your mouth to speak, he lifts a finger against your lips to silence you. 

“I didn’t believe in love, not until I met you. I could only ever imagine a life and a marriage destined to be only friendly and passionless. But I have loved you since that first summer we met and I have wished everyday since for you to feel even a fraction of the way I do for you.” 

He tucked a stray strand of your hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering gently on the skin of your neck. “Tell me again.” He pleads.

“I love you.” You lean forward and kiss him again. “I love you.” You utter the words between quick, desperate kisses causing him to groan against your mouth. His arm snakes around your waist and the ground leaves you, air breezing through your hair. You’re on your feet before you know it and your gaze is drawn downwards to him, in front of you, on one knee. 

He tightly grips your hand in both of his. “I have waited long enough for you. I saw a glimpse of a world without you by my side and it was monochrome and cold. I don’t want that. I want to see the colours when you look at me and smile so sweetly. I need to hear your laugh, my personal symphony. And if you would take my hand and walk the path into tomorrow and forever with me as my wife and my Queen, I will spend the rest of my life trying to make yours as colourful and joyous as mine will be. Marry me, please?”

You feel hot tears sting your eyes as happiness blooms deep in your chest. A bright orange tiger flower blossoming for him, a beacon of light and joy calling to you, showing you your rightful and chosen path. All these wasted years shall be no more and new ones accompanied by new memories await.

“Yes!”

[goopyartiste]

The Sea of Pink Flowers

Prompt: Taurus for my 100 follower event

Pairing: Prohero!Bakugo x Reader

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: swearing, pure unadulterated fluff

A/N: im so sorry it took me so long to get this out ASDKDHAL ;-; i was honestly struggling so much writing this to the point where i had to take a break. my brain just didnt know how to to write down my ideas properly, but i managed to finally get it done :’). hopefully its good enough for yall and i hope you all enjoy it! (hopefully its better than the ratatouille essay)

The golden hue from the sunlight streamed in through your half opened blinds, waking you up from your slumber. You took your time to take in your surroundings, hoping to catch a glimpse of your boyfriend before the two of you left for your date. Just as you begin to stretch and make your way out of bed, your lovely boyfriend walks into the room.

“You’re lucky I let you sleep in today, dumbass,” he declares, almost annoyed by the amount of time you slept.

Still in the process of waking up, you quickly responded, too annoyed to come up with a sarcastic remark. “You call this sleeping in? Its barely nine,” you groaned, rolling over to avoid him.

You could feel the simmering frustration that Bakugo was repressing, trying to stay calm. He quickly responded, however, his mouth running faster than his thought, “Hey I could have woken you up at seven like I did!”

You huffed, mumbling out a silent whatever at his retort and throwing the blankets off your form. The coldness of the room without the blanket instantly made you regret your decision. Finding Bakugo’s rage to be a better substitute for the cold, you dove for the discarded sheets, but your boyfriend was already one step ahead of you with the blanket in hand.

“Go finish getting ready so we could head on the road. I'm not gonna let us miss this date because you couldn't get your lazy ass out of bed,” he expressed, already walking out the door by the time you stepped onto the cold and unforgiving mahogany floorboards. 

Once your excursion to the closet and bathroom was complete, you made your way to the humble kitchen, noticing the careful precision Bakugo took in packing the compact beige picnic basket. As he methodically started placing all the items into the car, you grabbed a moderate picnic blanket from the closet and made your way to the roaring vehicle, closing and locking the door to your abode on the way out.

Closing the passenger’s door, you anxiously grabbed Bakugo’s hand, halting him from accessing the ger stick. You raised his hand so hi9s knuckles meet your lips right as his eyebrows raise at the unexpected hand holding. From your peripheral, he tenses a little, cheeks gaining a slight tint of pink before they fade at your proceeding question.

“Are you sure you can take the day off today? Doesn't the agency need you, or what if a really bad villain shows up? Will this be-”

Bakugo cut you off without hesitation. “Y/N, everything’s fine. The agency let me take today off so quit your worrying. And besides, dunce face and shitty hair got it covered.”

You physically relaxed, letting out an unintentional sigh of relief as you let his hand go, both of you on your way to enjoy a long-overdue date.

It wasn't long before you two arrived at the meadow Bakugo had specifically chosen for today. As soon as the car was parked and turned off, you ran towards the emerald slope, tripping on your way up the steep incline..

Making your way up the lavish hillside, you quickly felt the wind breeze past your form, cooling you down after the long trek. Bakugo was not far behind, carrying the basket with all your wonderful goodies. As you set out to find the perfect spot for your lovely picnic, Bakugo couldn’t help but marvel at your energy. That was always something he admired about you, how you could easily light up a room with just your presence, how you could make him smile by just looking at you and your beautiful face. His own thoughts were broken by the sound of your giddy laughter.

“Hey Katsu! I think this might be the perfect spot!”

Bakugo felt a small smile form on his usually grouchy face, coaxed by the nickname you decided to give him at the start of your relationship. Before he walked over to you, his scowl returned just as quickly as it left. You grabbed a typical pink, checkered blanket out of his hands, ready to start setting up when you heard Bakugo scoff. 

“Since when did we have this shitty blanket? It’s so cliché,” he muttered, too distracted by the gaudy sheet to notice you slightly snicker beside him.

In a vain attempt to respond, you tried to come up with a snarky remark. It didn’t take long until you broke out in a fit of laughter, dropping into the lush, emerald grass below as you clutched your stomach and gasped for air.

Bakugo deepened his scowl and raised his eyebrow, “What’s so funny to you?”

“Well,” you attempt to get out, before you’re overtaken by another fit of giggles.

Bakugo stares at you, confusion written all over his face before he decides to respond. “Whatever dumbass.”

Bakugo began to unpack the premade basket, clearly fine with letting you explore the boundless expanse of jade before you. While you did try to help, something far in the distant horizon caught your eye. A vast plain of pink flowers ranging from deep magentas to a dusty rose spread out before you, shades of coral lighting your path while the sweet succulent smell drew you closer. This field was something you had failed to notice during your eccentric running, but it was never too late to explore it. As you carefully made your way over to the field, Bakugo momentarily stopped to look at you. With the sun shimmering on the dewy jade grass and the bubblegum flowers settled around you, it almost made you look ethereal. The simple smile that graced your lips as you took in the field mesmerized him. Realizing he was staring, he violently shook his head, attempting to subdue the rising heat creeping up his face all while mumbling about his own grievances with his behavior. 

Finally finished unpacking the basket, Bakugo pretended not to notice your creeping form approaching from behind. You genuinely believed that you had been sneaky, quiet enough to sneak up on one of the top pro heroes. As you drew closer and closer, you were quickly grabbed by your hips and dropped on the ground, letting out a loud yelp as the object in your hands fell to the ground right next to you. Bakugo lay on top of you, holding you in his grip and trapping you under him. 

“You should know better than to sneak up on a pro hero right?”

You giggled slightly. You know I do Katsu, but I wanted to surprise you!”

He let out a tisk, rolling his eyes.“Idiot. What did you even want to surprise me with that made you think it was good to try and jump me?”

“This.” Grabbing the fallen object, you gently placed the handmade flower crown on his head. He froze as soon as the crown touched his spiked hair, unsure how to react. Getting off of you and sitting back down on the dewy grass, Bakugo’s scowl deepened as the tips of his ears became flushed with a brilliant pink. Whether it was from embarrassment, you weren't sure

Bakugo suddenly stood up from the grass, “Come on dumbass, the food’s waiting for us.” It wasn’t until he stood up from his spot on the earthen floor did you truly realize he liked it. It wasn’t until the whole day was spent and he still had the flower crown on his head, refusing to take it off, that you truly realized he cared for it. After all, it was a gift from you, lovely pink flowers and all..

As the sun begins to lower itself to the horizon, you lay your head on his shoulder relishing in the serene atmosphere as you hear Bakugo release a gruff sigh from above. 

“You know, this day wasn’t so bad,” he spoke, relaxing from the tenderness of your emotions.

You looked up, momentarily awestruck by how peaceful he looked. Sure, his brows were still furrowed and a small frown still graced his handsome face, but his relaxed demeanor told you a different story. As much as you enjoyed this calm Bakugo, you wanted to play with him a little.

“Well you’re hanging out with me. How bad could it have really been Katsu.”

Bakugo’s eyebrow twitched slightly, clearly taken out of the moment by your snarky comment while you smirk beside him, proud of his reaction however small it may be.

“Yeah, whatever idiot.” You smiled, choosing to enjoy the serene atmosphere of the world’s natural beauty. 

The two lovers let the stress of the week become a fleeting memory, choosing to savor the pink and purple of the setting sun in peace.

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[riversofmars]

If you ever get around to it I'd love to see 13 and River having a spectacular date inside one or more of the many rooms in the TARDIS, which is apparently infinite.

Hellooo! Thank you for the prompt! I was really torn on what to do for a date until I got this other prompt and thought they would work brilliantly together! Hope you liked this! <3

Rating: General

Word Count: 2000

Read on AO3 or below

Just For Being You

“A date? Really?“ River looked up from the book she was reading and raised her eyebrows, surprised at her wife’s suggestion. She found it very hard to believe the Doctor would want to go on a date. Usually she had to drag her kicking and screaming to any kind of couples activity so she couldn’t hide her scepticism.

“You always say we don’t - how do you put it - spend enough quality time together?“ The Doctor mimicked her wife’s voice and gestured speech marks into the air. River huffed and shook her head at her in amusement as she returned her attention to her novel. The Doctor promptly pushed the book down to demand her undivided attention.

“So you’re serious.“ River asked bewildered, noticing her wife’s put out expression.

“Yeah.“ The Doctor threw her hands up, then placed them on her hips with a huff. Of course she was being serious! “Come on then, we haven’t got all day.“

“Oh right, you mean right now?“ River looked around confused, she’d only just settled down with a cup of tea and a book. By the expression on her wife’s face, however, she realised this was a rare opportunity that she couldn’t pass up. “Well, where are we going? What do I wear?“ River broke into a smile. If the Doctor had come up with a date, that was a special occasion indeed and cause for excitement.

“Just come along.“ The Doctor grabbed her wife’s hand and pulled her up.

“No time to get changed? We’re in a time machine, Sweetie.“ River protested but only half-heartedly as a wide grin spread across her features. She allowed herself to be swept up in her wife’s enthusiasm as she dragged her along to the door.

“No need, you look great in anything.“ The Doctor winked and River rolled her eyes at her playfully.

“It better not be a black tie occasion then.“ River countered, hoping to find out more about what her wife was planning as she followed her along. “You know, this is not actually the way to the console room…“ River realised as she looked around and noticed that the Doctor was leading her further and further into the seemingly never-ending corridors of the TARDIS.

“Don’t be so impatient!“ The Doctor chuckled and River sighed:

“Well, excuse me for thinking that when you said date you meant going somewhere for a nice evening, not getting lost inside the TARDIS somewhere…“ She found it hard to hide her disappointment.

“Oh, don’t sound so disappointed and come along. You don’t know every room yet.“ The Doctor chuckled.

“Very nearly.“ River rolled her eyes but she didn’t get a chance to protest further as they seemed to have reached their destination.

“Here we are.“ The Doctor opened a door and gestured for River to step inside.

“Well… that’s a little underwhelming… it’s an empty room.“ River looked around and gave a shrug as she walked inside. The room itself was dark. It was impossible to make out the walls.

“Is it?“ The Doctor asked as she stepped closer to her wife and River looked around. “Empty, I mean.“ She handed her a gorgeous bouquet of flowers that seemed to have appeared out of thin air.

“Hmm, nice trick.“ River admitted as she couldn’t help but smile at the sweet gesture. She examined the flowers curiously, trying to figure out the trick behind their sudden appearance. They were real and smelled beautifully.

“Ask for something. No, think about it. Think of something you want right now.“ The Doctor grinned.

“I think if there is no more to this date, I would like you to take your clothes off.“ River smirked and the Doctor rolled her eyes.

“Think of an object.“ She urged and River sighed, obliging just to make her happy. A glass of champagne would do nicely right about now and the moment she thought of it, it appeared in her hand.

“Oh.“ This time, River couldn’t deny she was impressed. She grinned as she took a sip of the champagne that was just the right temperature.

“Good, eh?“ The Doctor grinned.

“Have you been reading Harry Potter again?“ River smirked as she looked around the Room of Requirement as she decided to dub it accordingly.

“Not my idea, you know this is all the TARDIS.“ The Doctor laughed as she took a twirl and a big cone of ice-cream appeared in her hand.

“She does have great taste in champagne.“ River chuckled as she took another sip.

“Now, for our date…“ The Doctor grabbed her wife by her shoulders and turned her around. Suddenly, River found herself face to face with what could only be described as a hippogriff from classical mythology. Half horse, half eagle, majestic and apparently quite curious about the two of them.  

“Still Harry Potter themed?“ River teased once she’d overcome her initial surprise. She reached out and gently ran her hand along its feathery neck. It appeared to be very friendly as it leaned into her touch.

“This will be fun, come on.“ The Doctor grinned as she walked up to a second one. Without much ado, she swung herself onto its back. River raised her eyebrows, impressed that she wasn’t being thrown off immediately.

“Like that time we rode all the way to Stonehenge?“ River asked as she circled around the hippogriff she’d been stroking. She got onto its back and looked around to her wife who grinned widely.

“Better.“ She assured her and the hippogriff spread its impressive wings and took off. In that moment, the dark room around them was flooded with blinding light. Suddenly, as far as the eye could see, a grassy landscape stretched. There was a forest in the distance and mountains even beyond that. Suddenly there were three suns in what appeared the be a crystal blue sky. River knew they hadn’t left the TARDIS, she would have felt the teleport, but it certainly felt like they had fallen into another world as the hippogriff she sat on took off as well and wind rushed through her curls.

“I’ll say.“ River exclaimed as she leaned forward and tried to hold on to the hippogriff’s feathers without pulling any out. “Does this room end?“ River called over the roaring of the wind as they climbed higher and she looked down to the meadow below.

“Does the TARDIS end?“ The Doctor called back as her hippogriff circled around them. She appeared to be greatly enjoying herself and looked like she had done this before.

“Fair point!“ River laughed as they were diving and then climbing again, she had always enjoyed flying but this did not compare to steering a space ship, this was much more immediate, much more exhilarating.

“Thought you might like this.“ The Doctor grinned, chuffed with herself.

“I love it.“ River exclaimed as they climbed higher and higher, the ground beneath them only a blur of green. The hippogriffs were just as playful as their riders, circling around each other, taking twirls and dives. “This is amazing!“ River lifted up her arms, enjoying the feeling of the wind between her fingers just as her hippogriff went into a summersault… and she slid off its back, falling.

“River!“ The Doctor shouted in a panic, making her hippogriff dive after her but as she was gaining on her, she could see River was laughing. A moment later, she realised why. A massive pile of hay, meters and meters of it appeared below, towering high enough to cushion River’s fall with ease. “Unbelievable.“ The Doctor huffed but couldn’t stop herself from jumping into the hay as well, though from a much more manageable height. “Are you okay?“ She asked, very much out of breath, as she turned to her giggling wife.

“Perfectly fine.“ River grinned as she sat herself up. The hay slowly started disappearing around them, letting them down gently.

“That was stupid, to let go!“ The Doctor couldn’t help but scold her.

“That was fun.“ River corrected her as she looked up to see the hippogriffs carrying on their game of chase high above them.

“Maybe let’s keep our feet on the ground for now.“ The Doctor suggested once the hay was gone and they sat in the meadow. “How about this.“ She pointed to the right and River looked around to see a picnic laid out.

“Now this looks like a good idea.“ She grinned and got up to make her way over. “I must say, Darling, you’re getting better at the whole date thing.“ She gave her a wink as they sat and the Doctor picked up a plate of what looked like some kind of creamy dessert.

“Try this.“ She picked up one of the tartlets and held it out for River to take a bite.

“Look at you being all romantic.“ River raised her eyebrows in amusement and took a bite of the sweet dessert, only the Doctor pushed the rest of it into her face laughing. She hadn’t been able to resist the opportunity.

“Are you serious?!“ River exclaimed wiping her face with a napkin that appeared in her hand. She glared at her wife but couldn’t keep it up as she saw the childlike joy in her face. River found herself starting to chuckle as well.

“Almost never.“ The Doctor admitted as she took a bite of a tartlet herself.

“How do I put up with you?“ River sighed theatrically, only to throw a dessert at her wife moments later.

“I have often wondered the same thing.“ The Doctor narrowly ducked her attack as she’d seen it coming.

The game could have continued like it for some time, had it not been for the squirrels.

“Oh hello there, and who are you?“ River leaned forward for a better look as she spotted two squirrels sneaking around their picnic basket. Only, they weren’t ordinarily squirrels. They had three tails, six legs and about twice as much fur as their terrestrial counterparts. They were beyond adorable. “Are you looking for something to eat?“ River reached into the basket where she found a packet of nuts that she promptly tore open for them. The Doctor just watched with a soft smile, she didn’t comment, not until one of the squirrels climbed up on River’s arm and scurried around her shoulders, playing with her curls.

“They like you.“ The Doctor smiled.

“Remarkable.“ River hummed in awe as the squirrel climbed down her other arm and settled into her lap for a moment. “I know what you’re doing though…“ She looked up to her wife and wagged her finger at her.

“What do you mean?“ The Doctor raised her eyebrows, confused.

“The TARDIS - as smart and remarkable as she may be - can’t create life like this.“ River pointed out as the squirrels chased off again.

“No?“ The Doctor tried her best to sound innocent which confirmed River’s suspicion.

“No.“ She bopped her wife’s nose. “So that means, these little guys are really here. Where did they come from, Doctor, do tell.“ She tilted her head in amusement, curious as to how she would try to wiggle her way out of this.

“Uhh…“ The Doctor’s face fell and she blushed, caught red-handed.

“Have you been picking up pets while I wasn’t looking?“ River pursed her lips, trying her hardest to sound stern.

“Well, you know…“ The Doctor scratched the back of her head awkwardly. “Some planets… when extinction events happen, the native species aren’t advanced enough to do something about it, sometimes, it’s just a little family of three-tailed squirrels sheltering from the storm and…“ She broke off when she saw the grin spreading across her wife’s face as she couldn't maintain the stern facade.

“You sentimental idiot.“ River laughed. “Can’t believe she’s letting you keep them. Bet they all have their own rooms too…“

“Well, there’s lots of different climates and…“ The Doctor started to explain but River interrupted her by pulling her into a kiss.

“I love you.“ She smiled as she pulled away.

“What was that for?“ The Doctor looked back at her surprised.

“That’s just for being you.“ River answered with a loving smile and the Doctor grinned, relieved, though only until River threw another dessert in her face to get even.

[crystalgirl259]

The Flame and the Dragon Chapter 27

Chapter 27: The Awakening

Cole woke up groggily, unsure if he had even slept at all. The previous night had been rougher than he thought. He froze when he felt an abrupt shift from the body next to him. The brush of bare skin made him groan until he shifted his position to get a good look at the condition of his sleeping partner. Kai was still unconscious, but his eyes weren't shut as tightly. His breathing wasn't as raspy and heavy as it had been the previous night. A small smile graced his lips in between breathing, but the flush of fever still danced across his face.

Carefully, Cole leaned over and pressed his lips to Kai's forehead while the back of his claws ran down the boy's chest and stomach.

He frowned slightly at the warmth of his forehead but smiled when the frosty touch of the boy's skin had faded back to its core temperature. Cole expelled a breath of relief and fished around for a robe or something to quickly throw on. He refused to embarrass his staff when Neuro or someone else returned to check on Kai's health. He found a large, black robe with two slits in the back sitting on the dresser with a note from Harumi. He donned it, making a mental note to thank the seamstress later, and lied down on the bed pulling Kai's shivering form closer to him.

He didn't have long to wait before Neuro and a satyr named Bolobo arrived.

Without a word, Cole let his precious flame go and let them work.

"His core temperature is back up, but it's too early to relax just yet," Bolobo explained feeling Kai's forehead, his chest, and torso and moving outwards his arms and legs. "My prime concern is that fever." He added as her hard brown eyes fell on the heavy red staining Kai's face when he rolled the boy onto his back.

"Is there anything you can give him?" Cole asked the satyr, crossing his arms tightly, his wings twitched with nervous impatience. Neuro looked from Kai to his basket and bit his lip.

"It's too dangerous to give him something while he's unconscious, but I might be able to make something external to reduce the fever." He replied as he dug through his basket and pulled out a corked bottle of pale pinkish-yellow fluid. He carefully uncorked the bottle, filling the room with a thick, woody odor. He set the basket on the floor, poured a few drops on his palm and fingers. He pulled the blankets down with his free hand flinching when Kai started to shiver again and gently rubbed the oil over Kai's chest in smooth circles.

The teen started to inhale deeply then started to calm down.

Neuro repeated the process once more when Kai's skin absorbed the oil, then wiped his hand on a washcloth and recorked the bottle.

"Any more is too risky," He answered before Cole could ask. "Bolobo and Shade will brew up a tonic for when he wakes up, but for now I think it's best to keep him warm and keep getting his body temperature up, he still has the chill in him."

"How long?" Cole asked with grave eyes. Bolobo and Neuro exchanged soulful glances then sighed.

"I'd give him another day or two, but if the hypothermia isn't out of him by then, then there isn't much else we can do," Bolobo replied. Cole nodded and bowed his head back to his slumbering captive. The two left without another word, leaving the two men alone. Kai's breathing was still a bit heavy and his face still flushed but the chill of hypothermia made itself clear each time he shivered. Worry clouded his eyes. Kai had been fine before so why was he shivering now?

Obviousness smacked him in the head like a blunt object.

Kai had his warmth then, being away from it for so long had caused him to relapse. Cole growled and without a second thought began removing his robe. He slid back under the thick blankets and began piling them over Kai's bare arms and shoulders. His wings wrapped around the teen and he pulled Kai closer. He gently rubbed his back in hopes of soothing him. The paste Neuro had used left a sharp, pungent stench in Cole's nostrils, but the aroma seemed to calm Kai a little.

A deeper sigh left Cole when Kai's shivering started to lessen and finally stop.

He smiled graciously when he felt Kai snuggle deeper into his warmth and felt him smile against his skin. He placed a gentle kiss on his forehead. Still too warm, but at least his body wasn't as cold. Shifting closer to the body, he gently stroked Kai's cheek taking in the sweet smile and the faint rosy color in his cheeks. His claws tenderly brushed over the soft, warm lips and traced the sloping curves of Kai's cheekbone. He jumped suddenly when he felt Kai burrow deeper into his warmth.

He couldn't help but chuckle.

Kai was the last person he would expect to be a cuddly person, but Cole wasn't one to complain. He gently brushed the spikey brown hair with his claws, smiling as the silk strands wove around his claws. His tail carefully moved under the blankets and coiled over Kai's hip and side like a snake. Anything to draw life back into Kai's body. For the first time in his life, he was grateful for this dragon body. The cursed form he had always hated was now the prime thing keeping Kai alive.

Even now he could feel his body heating up to combat the cold it felt when Kai pressed against it, and he held him tighter to force the warmth back to its source.

Never before did Cole not feel like a monster. Despite his staff's encouragement and Kai all but forcing him to see the truth, a small sliver of doubt kept a leech-like grip on his heart. The reminder that no matter how much Kai cared for him, Cole could never have such a precious gem in his arms as his own. The fact that he was, physically, still a monster was more than enough to shatter the fragile hope he had been building. Never did he consider himself more than what he was.

A man imprisoned in the form of a dragon.

Neither one nor the other but something dismal in between. He never dared to see the beauty of his form. He never thought to experience the gift of flying blessed upon a winged creature. Or realize the effortlessness it took to save another's life or the possibility that his form could do more than hurt, let alone give life. Yet somehow, Kai did. He never looked at Cole with fear or disgust. It was strange, to say the least. Even stranger to daring to hope that the emotions stirring within him were more than simple care.

That maybe, just maybe, the walls be built around himself had faded without his knowledge and that he had begun to do the one thing he knew was impossible, fall in love.

How or why or even when it happened no longer mattered. Cole had found the one person in the world who could understand him. He was sure of that now. However, the danger still remained. Even now, in Cole's arms, Kai was far from safe. Even if his flame woke up, did he admit his feelings? What if these emotions were simply concern or gratification? Would they vanish once Kai regained his health? No, he couldn't take such a risk. Not unless he was positive of himself as well as his heart.

Kai deserved that, at least.

That way, even if Kai didn't feel the same, Cole could die knowing he had found the one thing he desired most. Again, he kissed Kai's forehead and settled back into the comforting embrace of his presence, memorizing as much of the peaceful moment as he could, and believing, for once, that it would last...

****************

Kai hummed as he dreamed of his sanctuary. He found himself lying in a field of sparkling roses, glowing like jewels against the thick, lush, comfy grass. Above him, he could make out the castle. It shimmered against the clear sky as the stained glass windows sparkled like jewels. In the field, he could see Jay chasing Echo across the field with Nelson not too far behind, under the watchful eye of Zane. Ronin and Tox leaned against Bolobo under the shade of a tree.

Shade and Neuro sat on a picnic blanket making daisy chains.

On another blanket, Harumi laid with her head on her wife's lap while Ultra Violet twirled her bangs around her fingers, and Griffin laughed. Kai watched from the hillside, where he lied back against the roses. Except that he wasn't alone this time. Kai wove his fingers with his dream lover's claws, feeling a cool tingle running through them. For a moment they just lied there among the roses, their hands intertwined. Their heads turned and bright amber eyes met brilliant green.

Kai didn't need to see to know who his savior was.

His dream lover. His Dragon Lord. How could he have missed it before? It all made such perfect sense in retrospect. But none of that mattered. All that mattered was what was happening now.

"Come to me, my Flame..." He purred and Kai's eyes widened when his lover began to sing the words of his mother's lullaby in a deep soothing chime. Kai had almost forgotten about it. Even though he had sung the words himself for Lloyd and sometimes Nya when she got too stressed, they sounded so familiar, yet so different. Kai rolled onto his side met his lover's warm eyes with a smile and answered.

"I'm already here, exactly where I want to be." He smiled as he leaned closer so he and his Dragon Lord were only a few inches apart. He hummed when the Dragon Lord began stroking his hair. His eyes fluttered closed, soothed by the tender touch and the crystal chimes in the air. Words filled his mind as the music hummed in his ears.

"Come to me, my Flame..." The dragon repeated. Kai chuckled to himself and leaned a bit closer into his lover's embrace so his head was resting on his folded hands. He heard a low rush of wind then felt cool shade wrap over him.

"I told you, I'm already here." He sighed and his Dragon Lord chuckled, lightly.

"That wasn't what I meant." He spoke in a rich voice with a sultry rasp. Then he began to sing again. Kai could hear him move, and when he opened his eyes, he found his Dragon Lord leaning over him. Kai blinked in surprise and couldn't help but flush at the fact he was sprawled out beneath the Dragon Lord, but his savior just gave him a small smile and whispered.

"Will you be my key, Kai? Will you set me free?" he asked softly. At first, he couldn't answer. The concept sounded foreign but familiar all at once. When he did remember he mentally slapped himself for forgetting. The key to breaking the Dragon Lord's curse. The key to freeing his lover and all the people been nothing but kind to him. Kai smiled at the prince, no doubt or hesitation cloud his voice.

"Yes, Cole, I want to be your key." He promised as he leaned up to meet his lover's lips. Outside his dream world, Kai smiled in his sleep. But his lover didn't kiss him back. Instead, he turned his head, as if startled by a strange noise. Kai blinked and looked at his companion bewildered, even more so when his companion stood up hastily. His eyes focused on something foreign in the distance. Before Kai could ask what was wrong his savior broke into a run.

"Wait! Come back!" Kai called and chased after him, determined not to lose him. The hillside vanished and before he knew it he was chasing the Dragon Lord through a field covered in long grass and speckled in flowers that curled and blackened as they died. He wasn't sure how long they continued to run, but Kai refused to let the distance between them increase. Finally, his Dragon Lord leaped off the hill and vanished behind it. Kai could see his wings and head peeking over the greenery.

The Dragon Lord had stopped in a small clearing, his back still towards Kai, but his wings had fallen limp behind him.

Kai felt a surge of relief when he made it to the hillside and made to call to Cole, but the words were quickly replaced by a scream. At the base of the small hill lied the corpses of all the members of the castle. Red splotched their bodies and their glassy eyes were all frozen open. Thorny rose vines with withered, blackened blooms contorted around their spread arms and bodies. The corpses of roses and vines littered the area like thorny green skeletons speckled with blood shining like scattered rubies against the black ground.

In the center, where the ring of thorns and dead roses died was a circle of scorched earth, vacant of vegetation.

It was as if life knew better than to dare accumulate in that circle. That was where he found his Dragon Lord shaking and collapsed to his knees as if every movement hurt him. His beautiful wings, reduced to tattered strips of bleached leather, his clothes ripped to shreds and blood speckling the visible skin and scales. He turned to Kai with sad, pleading eyes, as if begging him for help. He was either forbidden to speak or didn't have the strength to.

It was then he heard a laugh like ice cracking on a frozen lake.

Kai's blood froze in his veins. He knew that laugh he followed the crackling sound to the man standing in front of his weakened lover.

"Get away from him!" Kai yelled, entering the clearing. There, he saw the same wine and amethyst-colored clothing and soulless eyes of the man who tried to kill him. Rage boiled in his blood as he suddenly recognized who he was. "You're behind all this!" Kai screamed in fury. The man said nothing. He just smiled a curled, mocking smile that set Kai's blood ablaze. His natural protective instincts and anger took over. Sparks crackled to life in his hands forming flames around his fists.

"Ah, so you've discovered your power, too bad it won't do you any good," He mocked the teenager and Kai saw red.

"I said get away from him!" He screamed throwing his hands forward, palms open and bright hot flames burst from his hands, roaring at their victim. But the man didn't flinch. His smile never faltered. Then he threw back his cape and raised a hand, sending a blast of purple fire back at Kai. The flames collided and he blocked the attack with ease. Kai's eyes bulged out of his skull and the man just laughed. When he brought his hand down again the flames and sparks retracted, forming a giant spell that bounced back towards its source.

Kai barely had time to scream before he was thrown backward with such force he skidded against the ground.

He coughed and groaned, aching from the force of his own attack.

"You can't save them!" The man's voice echoed dramatically around from everywhere. Kai shot up and turned to the closest corpse. Echo was lying only a few inches from Jay with their fingers just shy of touching. He got to his feet and crawled over to the boy's body and gently reached to touch it. He retracted his hand when Cole screamed, falling over and clawing at the ground until his wails transformed into a dragon's cry of agony. Lights clustered together above the victims spiraling into single orbs then blazed through the air all spiraling towards a single center.

Above the screaming and writhing Dragon Lord.

His limbs and back contorted. His spine cracked and the scales of his arms, legs, and back began to spread until they covered his entire form. He was no longer a man, but a dragon. Kai rushed to him, but streaming lights stopped him. The Sorcerer crackled like a madman, his laughter increased in volume as all of the lights came together in his hand. Around him Kai could see the ghost of each victim kneeling over their own corpses, weeping bitterly.

Some of them shrieked from despair, others just looked at him with dead, glassy eyes vacant of all emotion.

"I told you, boy, you can't save them," The Sorcerer chided, mockingly. When the lights died away it revealed the object in his hand. A crimson red wax candle with a bright, flickering purple flame. Kai's heart stopped in his chest when he saw it. His eyes fell on the dragon, writing on the ground. He groaned as he moved until their eyes met. The Dragon Lord's eyes were the only thing that was still human. They pleaded for him to run and save himself.

"He'll never be yours, you know." The Sorcerer said as he walked towards him. Kai took a shaky step away from him suddenly overcome by a nameless fear. The Sorcerer's smirk widened as he stepped closer, his intent naked in his eyes. Kai took another step back and stumbled over his own feet and landed on his butt but he continued to back away from the man. The Sorcerer laughed at his efforts and leaned closer so his eyes burned straight into Kai's.

"Even if you give him your mind and body and soul, he can give you his heart, he can give you his body." He smirked as he gestured with his arm to the ring of corpses, his grip on the candle dangerously tight. "But his soul and theirs belong to me!" He roared and suddenly crushed the candle in his hand...

****************

Electric fear shocked his heart and mind to life and Kai shot up panting. Only when he confirmed he was back in his room, and that the contents of his subconscious experience hadn't actually happened did he calm down. He concluded that it was a dream, running a nervous hand through his damp bangs. Or was it a disturbing premonition? He prayed it was the former and not the latter. Just the thought of it coming true sent a shiver of horror through his spine.

However, when he shivered again, he realized it was from cold.

His hands immediately flew to his shoulders and began rubbing his chest, hoping to bring warmth back to his form. He felt nothing between himself and the blankets confirming his suspicions that he was naked. A jolt of alert brought his senses into focus when he felt something wrapped around his torso and a leathery texture pressed against his back and sides. He had never been modest, but the sudden lover-like embrace sent a blush of embarrassment and fear surging through him.

He couldn't remember how he had to be gotten there.

He knew he had been sick, he still felt the weakness in his limbs and his weary body was abnormally pale. Unfortunately, his last clear memory was falling through the ice when he had been skating with the others, the rest were hazy recollections. He heard a light purring next to him, reminding him that he wasn't alone in the bed. Fear of what he might have done compelled him to simply slip away, but the desire to know compelled him to accept his actions.

Slowly, unwillingly, he turned around and looked down and found himself wrapped in the arms and wings of the slumbering Dragon Lord.

Unable to contain himself any longer, a loud, mortified shriek tore itself from his lungs. The sudden scream zapped Cole to life. He tried to take a battle stance but found the bed he was in too small for his massive form and instead he stumbled and collapsed in a mass on the floor. He swore as he got up, forgetting his lack of dress. He yelped and leaped into the air when his upper back and head were attacked. He whirled around and braced himself for a fight only to discover his assailant was a pillow.

Confused, he followed the source and resisted the urge to laugh when he found Kai bunched up, back pressed against the headboard on the other side of the bed.

He clutched the remaining comforter in his fist and held it to his chest like he was trying to merge the cloth with his skin. His free hand clutched braced himself against the mattress, clutching the sheets so tightly they started to rip. His eyes were narrow in embarrassed rage, his jaw twisted to grit and his face was bright scarlet from shame.

"What the hell are you doing here!" He demanded turning redder when the comforter shifted, revealing some of his skin. He used his free hand to cover it up, still blushing glaring. "Why am I naked? Or a better question is why are you naked? And in my room? In my bed!" Kai shrieked, positive he had a permanent blush on his face by now. Cole didn't answer. He had a blank look on his face, like was he momentarily stunned.

"What?" He questioned then looked down at himself. He grimaced at his own stupidity, scooped his robe off the floor, slid his wings through the slits, and clumsily tied it closed as he walked. It did little to cover him. Kai's heart rate doubled in speed watching the near-naked dragon came closer. Questions that needed answers swam in his mind like fish trapped in a net and Cole's silence only increased his panic. Instinctively, he inched away as the Dragon Lord came closer.

Finally, he backed up too far and he fell straight off his bed and landed on his back, only adding to his humiliation.

Cole paused, waiting for him to get up. When he saw this, Kai scampered to his feet as he took the comforter with him and backed away. He cursed when his back hit the wall. He stuttered an order and pointed at his assailant.

"What are you doing?" He demanded but Cole still didn't answer. His face was still vacant of emotion except for shock. He leaned closer and gently grabbed one of Kai's arms and held him steady despite Kai's yelps and stammering protests. "W-W-Wait! Stop!" He cried as he closed his eyes tightly, and struggled in the prince's grip until he felt the gentle touch of lips against his forehead. His eyes flew open and a small blush dusted his cheeks, but for a different reason.

Before he could question the action, Cole removed his lips and replaced them with the back of his hand.

"Your fever's gone." Cole breathed, still in shock. He double-checked, taking into consideration the temperature differences between them. "You're still a bit warm, but it's definitely gone." He added as the realization suddenly brought another concern to light. "You're awake!" Cole exclaimed as he jumped for joy. Kai's eye twitched in frustration.

"Of course, I'm awake! Why wouldn't I be? Now for the last time, Cole what the hell is going on?!" He growled but once again he never got an answer. Cole suddenly grasped his shoulders and pulling him into a tight, loving embrace like Kai would disappear if Cole loosened his grip. Kai was even more confused now. Cole released him and smiled at the confused boy. "What's going on?" Kai asked again, bewilderment all over his face. Cole stared at him like he was insane.

"You... you don't remember?" He frowned, then he pinched the top of his nose. "Of course, Kai, what's the last thing you remember?" He asked but Kai struggled to remember.

"I was skating with the boys and the ice broke, I think I fell in and, then it was all a blur; I remember a shadow, a light, music, and something... a voice calling out to me, but... I don't know if that was real or if I was dreaming... what does this have to do with anything?"

"Kai, you had hypothermia, you've been asleep for three days." Cole sighed with a grave look. Kai was glad Cole was holding him since if he hadn't been Kai was sure he would have collapsed from shock. "You were unconscious and freezing; everyone was worried sick, but thankfully, my body heat managed to get your core temperature back up." He smiled weakly but one look from Kai cut him off.

"Cole, what happened?" He asked. The sharpness in the boy's eyes and the gravity in his voice demanded the truth. Cole frowned but didn't look away. His face was conflicted. As if it was torn between two decisions that both promised a negative end.

"I dove in to save you, but I thought you were trying to leave so I threw you in the dungeon." He admitted in shame and Kai's eyes widened. "But after reading your gift, I realized how stupid I was and freed you but..."

"But what?" Kai asked, but Cole was hesitant.

"Nothing." He muttered, but Kai wasn't stupid.

"Cole, you saw him, didn't you? The man with the red cloak?" He asked, but it was clearly a statement.

"How do- How do you know?" He stuttered in disbelief.

"The night I... ran away, he... well, he made it obvious what he wanted, when I escaped him he sent that beast on me, didn't he? That's why you came to save me, wasn't it? You knew it was him? He did something again, didn't he? With that monster in the lake?" He explained with a frown like he had been keeping a terrible secret and had no choice but to reveal it to prevent devastation. Cole's hands fell limp at his sides and stumbled backward until he was sitting on the mattress.

He opened his mouth to speak but no sound would come out.

The words died in his throat. Kai's expression hadn't changed. Instead, he leaned over and put a hand on Cole's knee so they were face to face.

"Cole, I need to ask you something, and I need you to tell me the truth alright?" He said as the gravity in his voice was rivaled only his. Cole nodded. He said nothing but his eyes promised Kai the world. "That night, you and I saved each other, tell me... did I kill that monster with fire magic?"

"Yes, you did," Cole answered, sensing the desperation in his plea. Kai didn't look surprised. Instead, he fell to his knees, his arms at his sides, allowing the comforter to pull around his hips. His hair shadowed his eyes, but Cole caught the smile on his face. Cole knelt down in front of him, his wings braced to comfort him, but Kai just chuckled darkly. "So it did happen, that explains it."

"Explains what?" Cole asked confused, gently tilting Kai's chin so their eyes were even. He gasped in surprise when he saw the tears glistening at the base of Kai's lashes, but his twisted smile hadn't faltered.

"Everything," He retorted but regretted it when he saw the worry on the prince's eyes. Kai pulled away from him and pulled himself back so he was leaning against the wall. Feeling cold returning, he pulled the comforter up and wrapped it around his shoulders.

"It was you, Cole, I'd been dreaming about you." He growled as his hands started shaking and he looked at the floor, unable to look Cole in the eye. "After I arrived here, they started becoming clearer and clearer; now... now, I'm convinced somehow they're real, my dreams, my magic," He muttered as he looked at his shaking hands, remembering how it felt when sparks flew between them. "Now, I'm convinced something terrible will happen, and the worst part is that I don't think I can stop it."

Cole couldn't take anymore and rushed to the teen's side.

He gently ceased Kai's shoulders and pulled him closer. He hadn't failed to notice the tears abandoning his face.

"Kai, shush, don't worry about that, they're just dreams." He soothed, stroking Kai's bangs away from his face and gently running the smooth backs of his claws over his cheek to brush away the tears. Kai shook his head and whipped his eyes with his arms, angry at himself for his lack of control, but the tears of fear and sheer helplessness refused to stop.

"They're not dreams, Cole! I was naïve to think they were!" He shouted. The volume and intensity, caused Cole to fall back from shock. Kai's fist shook in rage next to him and his wild eyes were bright with unrivaled certainty. "I know about the curse, Cole," He whispered, trying to look away, but found he couldn't. "I pretended not to because no one likes to talk about it, but I know, and I know him... that man, sorcerer, whoever he is he's behind it, isn't he? If you don't break the curse by spring he's going to take your soul, right!? Tell me!"

Cole said nothing, but his neutral mask spoke more than a thousand words.

"I know no one can reveal the details of the curse or how to break it, even you, but that doesn't matter, I'll find a way." He promised as he shifted his position so he and Cole were face to face. Tears glittered on Kai's eyelashes, but he was smiling, happily, making Cole more confused. "Cole, I don't regret coming here, or choosing to stay; being here with you, the boys, everyone... I've never been happier than I am when I'm here, everyone here is so wonderful; no one's treated me like an outcast."

He paused for a moment, but no doubt or hesitation clouded his voice when he spoke next.

"Whenever I'm with you, I can't explain it but... I'm happier than I've ever been in my entire life." Kai smiled brightly, gently whipping aside a joyful tear. Reading the bewildered and almost blank look on Cole's face the entire time he spoke, Kai didn't know how Cole would react to his declaration. The moment Kai finished his sentence Cole pulled him into his arms and rested his chin on Kai's shoulder. At first, the sudden embrace surprised him, but Kai could feel the warmth and the passion behind it radiating against their bare skin.

"Cole?" Kai questioned, but it was more a statement of happiness than a voice of concern.

"I don't care about that stupid curse," He whispered against Kai's skin. He blinked and gently pulled away, confused. Cole just smiled at him and wrapped his arm around Kai's still covered waist and stroked his cheek. "I mean it, even if I lose my soul; even if I spend the rest of eternity in hell, I don't care! That bastard can do whatever he wants to me, it won't change anything, and do you know why?" He asked, but Kai didn't and Cole smiled again.

"Because I'll always be able to take this with me." He declared and Kai's widened at what the man was implying and a slight pink color rose in his cheeks. Cole chuckled and hugged him tighter. "You've made me happier too, Kai, happier than I'd ever thought possible, I'd given up hope that I'd ever been happy again." He said as he pulled away to look Kai in the eye and pressed their foreheads together. "I'm not going to lose that or throw it away for anything so I promise you, no matter what gets thrown in my way or who stands in front of me, I promise I'll protect you with every fiber of my being, nothing is going to take you away from me, my flame."

Kai didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Tears burst from his eyes and laughter exploded from his mouth.

He threw his arms around Cole's neck and hugged him with such force he was taken off guard and his scaled spine and wings crashed against the bed frame. They both laughed at the action, but when their eyes opened and locked once more, they wasted no time and closed the distance between them. Lips molded perfectly over the other, Kai's arms wrapped tightly around Cole's neck and shoulders. Cole's wrapped around Kai's waist pressing the blanket still wrapped around Kai's hips and torso, closer to his flesh.

One hand stroked up Kai's upper back as his tail twitched at his side.

The kiss slowly turned deeper. His body moving on its own, Cole kept one arm around Kai's waist and the other clutched the bed and hoisted himself up. His arm repositioned Kai so he was holding him bridal style with one arm. Kai's arms tightened their hold on Cole, not wanting to break away just yet. They finally paused to breathe when they fell back against the mattress. Cole took notice at how lovely Kai looked sprawled out beneath him on the bed.

Face flush, one arm level with his head the other at his side, eyes half-lidded with passion, his chest rising and falling with each deep breath.

Seeing that the dragon hybrid above him wasn't moving, Kai leaned forward and kissed Cole passionately. He pulled him closer against him, urging him to move, and Cole obeyed. His body was now flush against Kai's as their arms wrapped around the other. The loose knot of his robe had come undone long ago. The comforter, the only thing separating them, slipped further down Kai's waist until it finally settled just above his hips.

"Rise and Shine you too! Shade made tea!" Neuro suddenly shouted as he burst through the door, balancing a tray with a large steaming teapot and several teacups in one hand and used the other to pry Echo, Nelson, and Jay off his waist. Harumi suddenly shoved the articles she had been holding into Ronin's arms and tried to help pry the servants off Neuro. The sudden commotion brought the two men back to reality. Their eyes flew to the spectacle, which froze the instant it turned its attention to the two on the bed.

All of their eyes flew open at the sight of their Master, robe opened and sprawled on top of their guest, who was in nothing but a bedsheet.

Amber and emerald eyes widened in horror. The servants just stared, too shocked to do anything else. Suddenly, the entire East Wing erupted in eight different, horrifying screams. No one noticed the red eyes peeking through the crack in the curtains...

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

Within the Circles

Good Omens Spooky/Whump fic.

This fic was written for the @tricketyboo2020 “Trick-or-Treat” prompts; @peppervl requested a scary angel/demon summoning, with the summoners wanting to hurt their captive, a rescue, and Hurt/Comfort (non-graphic and SFW). Well, I have Part 1 ready to go, but rescue and comfort are still being written! I’ll try to get out more later today!

This fic is massive (part 1 is just under 5k), so please consider reading on AO3!

Part 1: Circles of Protection

Crowley snapped awake, fighting off the dream, just as the sun rose. He could still taste the salt and smoke, still see the black candles, the silver sigils laid into the floor, still hear the careful chanting – the words changed over the centuries, but the intent always remained the same.

Someone had started the process of summoning a demon last night, and Crowley was the unlucky target.

“Bad dream?” He shook himself out of the reverie to see Aziraphale smiling down at him, reaching over to gently brush strands of bright red hair from his eyes. “You always get clingy when you have one.”

“Nh.” Crowley was pressed as close to his angel’s side as he could get, arms twined around soft stomach, one leg hooked over Aziraphale’s knees. There was a warmth emanating from him, surrounding them both, a warmth that had nothing at all to do with Hell or Earth, a warmth that could heal everything in Crowley within seconds. “Better already.” He pressed his face into the soft tartan flannel, soaking it all in.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” A little too quickly, perhaps, but Aziraphale didn’t try to pry, simply pressed a kiss to the top of his head, breathing deeply, as if he enjoyed the burnt-match smell that still clung to Crowley even after all this time out of Hell.

“Alright. Get some more sleep then, darling, it’s only just after seven.”

But Crowley didn’t have time to sleep. He needed to prepare.

Was the New Moon tonight? Most likely. And it was halfway between the Harvest and Hunter moons. The night the humans would have the most power. More than Crowley could resist on his own. Hard to judge how strong they were – felt like at least three, could be more. Already he could feel their hook in his mind, tugging at him. It was just lucky his mental defenses were still intact, or else they’d have him now, bound to a circle, and the questions…

Aziraphale noticed how tense he was, rubbed a hand down his back. “Crowley, dear, it’s alright. Just a dream. It’s over now.”

No, it wasn’t over. It had barely even begun.

“Angel…” he started slowly, not wanting to pull away. “I’ve got…some things to take care of today. Why don’t you head back to the shop?”

“Oh, no, I’d much rather stay with you.” There was no denying the growing concern in his voice.

“Really has to be done alone.”

“Can you tell me about it?” Now Aziraphale’s fingers clutched at the back of Crowley’s shirt.

“Ngh.”

He could. Aziraphale could probably help him. Even with his defenses, Crowley would be in for a fight tonight, and there was no one else he’d rather have at his side.

Except.

Except Crowley would have to tell him. Would have to say the words out loud. Would have to admit to all that fear and pain, and see the horror he could just barely keep buried reflected in Aziraphale’s eyes and then what was he supposed to do?

No. Much better to face this alone, as he always had. He could fight this off, and after the New Moon the humans wouldn’t be able to do more than irritate him, no matter how large their group. They’d lose the trace on him in a day or two, and that would be the end of it.

Besides, Aziraphale would only worry. And fuss. And get anxious and lose his appetite, and a thousand other things Crowley had sworn to keep him safe from.

No, this was the way it had to be.

“S’nothing to worry about.” Crowley lifted Aziraphale’s hand, kissed the back of it. Covering up his nerves as best he could. “Just demon stuff. I’ll call you first thing in the morning when I’m done. We can...mmm…go for a picnic?”

“It’s a bit cold for a picnic,” Aziraphale admonished, wearing his most put-upon frown. “And you know I would much rather spend the day with my husband.”

“Nh, I’m in trouble.” Crowley tried to smile, pushing himself to sit up. He felt a wave of cold the moment he moved away from Aziraphale, his mind filling with that echo of chanting, but he quickly slid beside his angel, head on his shoulder, arm around his middle. Back into the warmth. “I know you only call me husband when you’re angry at me.”

“Or when I’m angry at someone else. Do you remember that rude man in the park?”

“How could I forget?” This time his smile was almost genuine. “You made that old bigot cry. It was beautiful.”

“Well. I obviously didn’t want to use such harsh language, but there were children around. I couldn’t have them thinking his behaviour was socially acceptable.”

“My hero,” Crowley said mockingly, lifting Aziraphale’s hand to kiss it again.

“Stop trying to distract me. Why don’t I stay here and, I don’t know, make you tea? I know how to stay out of the way.”

“I just...it’s easier this way.” Another kiss. “And we do whatever you want tomorrow. Dinner? Trip to Paris? What are you in the mood for?”

Aziraphale pulled away a little, trying to see his face more clearly. “And...you promise it’s safe?”

There was no hiding the way Crowley hesitated, but he pushed through it quickly. “If everything goes right, worst thing that’ll happen is a sleepless night for me. No one else gets hurt, promise.” Not unless something went very, very wrong.

“I still don’t like it,” Aziraphale sighed. “But…I suppose…a nice walk in the woods? See the leaves?”

“Yes! Whatever you want.”

“Scarecrow competition?” Crowley nodded eagerly. “And...a maize maze? Oh, a vegetable grower’s contest! There’s one at that farmer’s market over in Oxfordshire – we can stop by Tadfield and see how everyone is. And then we can fly kits and carve pumpkins and – and have a bonfire with marshmallows—”

“We can’t do all that in a day!” The demon slumped back down with a dramatic groan, head hitting the pillows with a thud.

“You said whatever I like. And if I’m to be deprived of your company for a day, I expect you to make it up to me.”

“Fine,” Crowley growled, rubbing his jaw. “S’Friday tomorrow anyway. We can make a weekend of it.” He’d need to recover, and a weekend out of London sounded more appealing than ever. “Just promise you’ll let me take a nap first. Then we can head over, take the kids wherever you like. I’ll even do jack-o-lanterns. Show them how to make a proper one out of a turnip.”

“Alright. It’s a deal.” Aziraphale leaned across and kissed his lips. “And if you insist on being mysterious and secretive, that just gives me an entire day to think of wonderful autumn activities for you. There will be fuzzy jumpers. Maybe a crown of leaves.”

“Bastard.” Crowley kissed him back, trying to pull in every ounce of that warmth.

He’d need it to get through the night.

--

The back room of Crowley’s flat contained his most important possessions – an eagle lectern rescued from a bombed out church, several artworks by Leonardo da Vinci, a photograph of Aziraphale, the first he’d taken when they no longer needed to keep themselves a secret.

He hadn’t meant for the room to have a theme, but all the important things in his life tended to have something in common.

He tugged open the safe that had once held his flask of Holy Water. The flask itself was long gone - Aziraphale had whisked even that away, a gruesome reminder of his greatest fear. Crowley had never considered asking for a replacement; the first had nearly cost Crowley the most precious thing in his life, and that was too high a price to pay.

Still, he wondered how Aziraphale would react if he knew about the box.

Tucked in a corner of the safe sat the simple chest of dark wood, sigils traced across the lid with little more than a hint of the silver that had once inlaid them. Still, they remained strong enough to keep the box safe, and to keep Crowley safe from it. Even picking it up made the hair prickle down his arms, his fingers tingle. It was almost too heavy to lift.

He carried it to a table in his solarium, settling it between trembling plants. They, at least, would have a relaxing day. No time to shout at them now. The lid rattled when he set it down - it had once locked securely, with a key that he carried everywhere, until an emergency caught him unprepared and Crowley had shattered the latch to get inside. He should get it replaced, probably, but in truth the only one he needed to keep out was himself.

Crowley flipped back the lid.

The inside was lined with deep red velvet, worn and torn in many places, and packed tight with rows of glass vials. Some held salt, others spices, herbs, small stones, one even had a jumble of tiny iron nails; the largest held pure black ink. A side compartment held larger stones – amethyst, agate, selenite, quartz. In another, a bundle of candles, black and white and deep violet. An Evil Eye pendant, the back carved with symbols of protection even more obscure.

Every good luck charm, every token of protection that humanity had ever devised. Everything that had ever been waved at him in fear, in an attempt to ward off the evil spirit - everything except holy symbols. Not because he feared them more (though he did), but because they wouldn’t be any help to him now.

Even without the Holy Water, Crowley could still be a danger to himself. Every object in this chest, if used properly, could harm a demon – some of them almost fatally.

He’d learned long ago that sometimes he needed to take risks to protect himself.

--

Crowley decided to make his stand in the bedroom. No windows, only one door, practically a cave, though a literal cave would have been better. He miracled out all the furniture, leaving a glass-fronted concrete cube, facing west across the solarium to the windows, then set to work scrubbing walls, floor, even ceiling until it was almost astringently clean.

Grabbing a bowl from the kitchen, he mixed salt, black pepper, cayenne and a few other ingredients, muttering words of power few humans would still remember. His fingers began to sting as he stirred them through the mixture, but that just meant it was working. Crowley carefully poured a thin line of black and white powder, moving in a clockwise circle in the center of the bedroom, being careful to leave a gap to move in and out through.

Four black candles, set at the cardinal points; four white halfway between them. Three violet, inside the circle. He wasn’t sure if those last ones did anything, but he’d never been summoned while burning them, and he wasn’t going to risk it now.

Another clockwise pass through the room, putting down incense burners – cedar, cloves, dragon’s blood, sandalwood. Even unlit, the scent of them made his lungs ache. He could feel the power building in the room, like a charge of static electricity, like lightning looking for a place to ground itself.

The vial that should have held garlic was empty. He’d used it all back in the 70s and never replaced it. Stupid. Careless. He could miracle some up, but he’d learned the hard way that anything he manifested would be useless for protection until cleansed by a witch. Book Girl would probably help if he asked, but not without asking questions and making it a whole thing. She wouldn’t be as bad as Aziraphale, but it still wouldn’t be good.

Besides, he didn’t even have time for a trip to the grocery store, never mind Tadfield.

The jar of ink, thankfully, was filled to the top. He snapped his fingers to create a paintbrush – that, at least, he could manifest safely – and set to work dabbing sigils of protection on the floor and across the walls. They were hasty, badly formed – but each one hurt, a burning flash of pain up his arm as he finished it, some of them jabbing at his heart. He couldn’t imagine what a proper sigil would do to him, so he went for quantity over quality.

Sixteen around the outside of the salt-and spices circle, eight more around the inside, and one on each wall. In between he set the stones, piles of herbs, and glass jars filled with dried flowers and less savoury items.

The protection in the air was almost palpable now, dragging across his skin, clinging to him like the heat in a sauna. It made his head spin, and he wasn’t even done.

The box was nearly empty now, just a pile of assorted good luck charms – a horseshoe, a rabbit’s foot, a stone with a hole worn through the center – and the Evil Eye amulet.

They burned when he picked them up.

Fumbling, Crowley set the last items around the innermost circle, barely leaving himself space to sit.

Every time he stepped into the solarium, it was like the shock of a cool breeze on a hot day, or the flare of a campfire on a frozen winter night. Both at the same time. A relief. The bedroom repelled him.

He leaned against the table, eyeing the empty chest, trying to think of anything he’d missed.

Nearly sunset. No time now.

He reached for the box of matches, then hesitated.

Heading to the back room one more time, Crowley made a quick call on his mobile phone.

“Hello,” a cheerful voice called across the line, and a little worry unknotted almost immediately. “I’m sorry, you just missed us. We’ve been closed since August—”

“It’s me.”

“Oh! Crowley! How are you? Did you, er, take care of what you needed to do?”

“Nh. Finishing up now.” He grabbed what he needed and turned back, feet dragging as if he could delay the inevitable. “Few more hours. So. Um. Don’t worry. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Well, of course I’m worried, you silly thing.”

“Really you don’t—” The sky burned red as the sun sank behind the buildings of Mayfair. The hook in Crowley’s mind stirred to life.

“It’s my job to worry about you, dear,” Aziraphale went on. “Why don’t you let me come down and help. I’m sure whatever it is—”

“Nuh. No chance.” He snatched up the box of matches, hand shaking so badly half of them immediately spilled onto the floor. Get it together, Crowley! “Stay wh – where you are.” 

“Crowley!” Now there was no mistaking the deep concern. “Something is wrong, I can hear it in your voice.”

“S’fine.” Why was his voice so high?

“I don’t believe that for a second.” A pause, while Aziraphale probably paced around the room, lips pressed together. “I...I know you have your secrets, and I’ve never pried. I won’t start tonight. But, please, just tell me...are you sure everything is alright?”

Crowley took a deep breath, pulling off his glasses to rub at his eyes. No, he wasn’t sure. There was nothing sure about summonings. He’d be in for a fight tonight, and the smallest thing to distract him or throw off his wards could bring disaster.

He knew what he was doing, he was good at this, really. Hadn’t lost the fight in centuries. Not since 1386, when a group of seven summoners had overwhelmed all his defenses. Of course, Crowley had barely escaped them, and when he had…

No. He would not – could not – tell Aziraphale that.

But he wouldn’t lie, either.

“Honestly…no. But I don’t think there’s anything you can do.”

“Crowley…”

“S’fine. M’gonna feel…” His throat closed up, and it had very little to do with the lingering scents of incense. “Feel so much better when I see you tomorrow.”

A short pause, and then a voice so soft it nearly broke Crowley on the spot: “I love you, dearest.”

“Yeah.” Crowley wiped at his eyes again. “I, uh…” Swallowed, tried to clear his throat. “I…”

A tug of power at the back of his mind, almost too subtle to feel. So strong already. The sun hadn’t even fully set.

“I gotta go.” Crowley’s voice was rough, even to his own ears. “Call you in the morning.”

He shoved the mobile into his pocket and hurried back into the bedroom, striking a match as he went, trying to keep his fingers from trembling and putting it out.

Moving clockwise around the room one last time, he carefully lit candles and incense, filling the room with thick, cloying scents. The tug on his mind weakened, but the protective charms were almost as bad, flaring across his skin like red-hot razor blades.

When everything was complete, he settled in the center of the room and poured out the last of the salt-and-spices mixture, closing the circle. At least seven layers of protection surrounded him, candles and charms and sigils and everything else humanity’s fantastic imagination could devise.

Crowley tied the amulet around his neck, where it hung like a millstone, and placed the object he’d retrieved from the back room in front of him: the photograph of Aziraphale, smiling at St James’s Park, three days after the world had ended and a better one had taken its place.

The picture wouldn’t provide any protection, but it made Crowley feel stronger anyway.

“Right, Angel,” he managed, crossing his legs and hunching his shoulders. “Here we go.”

Through the windows of the solarium, he watched the sun vanish.

--

The first attack came an hour after sunset, at 7:18 PM, just as the tension was beginning to make Crowley’s back ache.

Candles flickered around the room, and the flames turned violet-black, one by one, growing, towering almost up to the ceiling. Whenever a candle shifted, it tugged at Crowley, absorbing his own power as much as the power invading his space.

A wind stirred around the circle of salt, sending stray grains rattling and tumbling away. Glass vials rattled and clicked, but so far everything held. Crowley tried to recite the mantra he used - Latin, very dignified and appropriate - but he kept messing up the words.

The air of the room sucked at him, like the sea going out before a wave, and Crowley barely had time to brace himself before the wind solidified, slamming against his circle like a physical force, swirling around him, coiling, boiling, trying to find a way in. 

Each impact rattled him, and the hook in his mind pulled, trying to drag him towards the door.

“No, no, no, fuck off!” He braced his feet against the floorboards and crossed his arms in front of his chest. He gave up on the Latin and tried something more his style: Get the fuck out of my home, repeated, over and over, until it was no longer words, just a wave of sound.

The power slammed against his circle again, nearly knocking him over. One foot lashed out, and his toe caught one of the glass vials of protective herbs. It teetered - spun - and fell over, rolling towards the circle of salt. “Oh, shit, no--”

Before he could put the blessed thing back, the power sensed the hole in his defenses and struck. It hit him in the chest, like an arrow, like a harpoon, and the force of it threw him to the ground. Gasping and twisting, Crowley sprawled on the bedroom floor, scrambling for something to hold on to as the line of power started to pull, dragging him towards the door. He scratched at the concrete floor, the ink-drawn sigils, but there was nothing to hold. His toe tapped another vial.

Fuck, why did I put so many of these things in here? He used the pull on his chest to force himself to sit up, despite the pain, and caught the vial before it fell. The first one had come to rest just shy of the circle of powders, leaving them unbroken. Where did this one come from? All the blessed trinkets made circles within circles, and if he didn’t plug the gap—

Something not-quite-solid shot around Crowley’s neck, constricting, squeezing, pulling him to his feet, up, off the ground. It was a hand, he could feel it, fingers digging into his flesh, becoming more real as it tried to pull him to his destination. Crowley twisted in the air, helpless, feet kicking futilely at a captor who stood miles away, scratching at his own neck in his desperation to get free.

One finger shifted, brushed across the amulet he wore, and suddenly it released him, dropping Crowley in a heap in the middle of the circle. He coughed and tugged at the charm, which sliced his finger like broken glass even though it was still intact, and crawled across the sigils to the gap in the circle of stones and jars. Another bolt of pain struck his shoulder, insubstantial fingers plucked at the collar of his shirt, but with a scream of “Leave me the fuck alone,” Crowley slammed the little glass jar back into place—

A flash of black light and a shock of pain through every nerve—

And suddenly everything was still again.

The candles burned, blue flames steady, the circles unbroken.

Crowley curled into a ball at the center of the circle, shielding his wounds. Everything hurt, his ribs, his shoulder, his back, his neck. He felt like he should be a bloody, bruised mess, but apart from the tiny cut on his finger there was no sign of injury. And beyond that, the cold, every part of him down to his core, a bone-deep cold beyond shivering.

With a great effort, he managed to push his sleeve up enough to see his watch.

7:24 PM.

It was going to be a long night.

Already, somewhere in the back of his mind, he could hear the chanting again, calling to him. The candles started shifting from blue to black. Already.

His eyes fell on the picture of Aziraphale, smiling like a bastard by the duck pond after stealing Crowley’s ice cream. Crowley hadn’t been angry. He’d ordered Aziraphale’s favorite for a reason.

“S’gonna be alright, Angel,” Crowley muttered, forcing himself to sit up even though his arms and chest and head felt like lead. “I’ll see you soon.”

No wind this time; the summoners tried a different approach. The quartz crystals began to glow and hum, a high-pitched noise that ground against Crowley’s eardrums.

He braced himself, eyes on the door.

“Alright, you assholes. Do your worst.”

--

Crowley was not winning.

Candles lay scattered across the floor, most with flames snuffed out, and he had long since lost the power to miracle them back into place. The charms, the herbs, the incense - everything had failed, one by one. Even the sigils were smudged beyond recognition.

Every part of his body was bruised, broken, sore.

Now Crowley clung to the ceiling as a powerful wind shifted the circle of salt, grain by grain breaking down his last barrier. His fingers dug into the light fixture, even as more lines of power than he could count buried themselves into his bones, hauling him towards the door. Metal twisted under his fingers.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he groaned as the circle below grew thinner – thinner – and vanished altogether, breaking the protection with a snap he felt in his soul.

The forces pulling on him – harpoons and snares and hands and everything else the bastards had thrown – suddenly became irresistibly strong, ripping him free, dragging Crowley back along the ceiling.

His feet slammed into the glass above the door, bracing him, but only for the moment. 

It was the last line of defense, the last thing keeping him safe – once he passed through the door they would have him. He pawed at his jacket looking for any other tricks – the amulet had burst shortly after midnight, all the powders burned to nothing, even his mobile phone was gone, lost in some struggle he barely remembered.

Nothing remained but his legs bracing against the wall and ceiling, his mind bracing against the pain and the call, and his glasses…

Shit, that might work.

He pulled them off and glared at the lenses. More black holes than mirrors, but they might be reflective enough.

It was dangerous, trying to reflect power back on the attacker. It worked best if you knew who was attacking you and where they were. A desperate stab in the dark could go wrong in too many ways.

Worse, leaning forward to attempt this might tip his balance enough to drop him through the door, ending this fight entirely.

But what else could he do? Try to hide in this corner until dawn released him?

The glass cracked under his feet.

Now or never.

Planting his feet on the ceiling, Crowley swung his head down, glasses in hand and pointed west, through the door, in the direction the power pulled him. Shoved them right where the pull was strongest and snarled, “Get out of here! Find some other bastard to play your games. I’m not fucking going!”

And just like that, the power released him.

Crowley hit the floor – hard – hard enough to crack his ribs, if they weren’t already damaged, hard enough to slam his teeth against each other. He spat out a mouthful of blood – had he bit his tongue? Or some other injury in the night, ignored until now? – and wriggled across the floor, grabbing four candles as quick as he could. North, east, south, west, all around him. One still flickered and he used it to light the rest before the attack could come again.

But…nothing came. Not even the chanting in the back of his mind.

He looked at his watch, cracked but still running. 5:08 AM.

Had it worked? Had he made it through the night?

Crowley shook his head and let his gaze drift around the room, trying to focus on anything.

What a mess. Broken glass, plant matter and powders scattered everywhere, formless smears of ink, burnt-out wax stubs. Even his glasses were destroyed, frames twisted, glass melted.

Would he have to do this again tonight? Most summoners could only manage an attack like this on certain nights when the forces of the universe aligned, but these had been strong and persistent. There was a chance…

At the center of the room, Aziraphale’s picture suddenly burst into flames, turning to ashes in a heartbeat. Too quickly for a stray spark, for a mundane fire.

“Shit, no, no,” Crowley’s eyes darted around the wreckage for his mobile. Had he dropped it in the corner? Blown out of the room in a stray wind? He snapped his fingers, trying to summon it, but he couldn’t find a whiff of power.

It could be a mistake. It could be a trap. One step out from his makeshift candle circle, and they’d have him, and Crowley didn’t have the strength left to endure what came next.

But if something had happened to Aziraphale, that didn’t fucking matter, did it?

One cautious step past the candles, half in and half out. Nothing.

Three steps to the door, leaning through into the incongruously still-clean flat. Nothing. The plants didn’t even stir.

He crossed the solarium, gazing out through the windows at the night sky. The miracle that allowed him to see the stars despite the lights of the city was rapidly fading, as he hadn’t even the strength to sustain it, but he could still see Venus, clear as lamplight, and Regulus, and Leo…

It wasn’t even near dawn.

And still, nothing tugged at him, nothing beckoned.

Which could only mean…

Crowley ran from the room, all pain forgotten.

--

“No, no, no, shit, shit, shit, no, no, shit, fuck, no,” he muttered the entire drive to Aziraphale’s shop, an excruciating three and a half minutes at speeds the Bentley had never previously reached.

The east window lights were on, the rest of the shop dimmed, the way Aziraphale liked it when he was reading all night in his favorite chair.

The door was blown wide open.

Crowley slammed the Bentley into park right in the middle of the road and staggered out. “No, no, no, Azira—”

There, lying in the doorway: a suit, a waistcoat, a tartan bow tie.

Aziraphale was gone.

Crowley had told the summoners to find some other bastard, and they had. They’d found his bastard.

He collapsed in the street, and for the first time that night, screamed in pain.

--

Thank you for reading, and I’m so sorry! More coming soon!! Special thanks to @angel-and-serpent who gave me so many ideas for protection magic, I’m probably going to have to write MORE fics with witchcraft in them! In particular, thanks for the idea that the protections would hurt Crowley as much as help him, which really allowed me to go off.

[nauseateddrive]

4 POEMS by Jake Sheff

Elegy for Dog I: A Failed Acrostic

January was tired when it became king. Apples here love being red in the spring, Casting shadows against the stone architraves our Kapellmeister will never live down. You Stole Apollo’s cows, and let them graze to show me Heaven’s template. Where do failed heroes go? Eucalyptus cupolas and polar icecaps Frame the downtrodden gods. But you weren’t Freakishly wrong, as I so often am, on your

Joyride through nearly twice eight years, Á la someone far from beauty’s stepmom. Copper coin or grimacing sun? I’ve got 20,000 Kor of crushed grief on this threshing floor. Shark-sparks of sadness flood the impetiginous air… How, and why, do clouds cobblestone Entire days, and lakes, when you’re not here? Fixing every broken thing, poets go where Ferns and geraniums baptize the morning.

“Jur-any-oms,” is how you’d spell it; After all, a dog’s a dog, and wisdom knows futility. Cassations make a rusty brew, to drink the truth of truths, and Kill whatever ceases wanting to be new. Stewardship, the color of gravity’s silence, naturally Houses every “glur” (a glittery blur); go chase what plays Eternal games. I hear the swans by Rooster Rock. Your handsome Face, its happy handsomeness, in memory’s eye, goes in and out of Focus; in love’s better eye: your goodness neath its everblooming ficus.

Gravity and Grace on SW Murray Scholls Drive

“Impatience has ruined many excellent men who, rejecting the slow, sure way, court destruction by rising too quickly.” Tacitus, The Annals of Imperial Rome

The traffic lights control the people’s actions, but Not their feelings, as the limits of philosophy Collide head on with the nose of a Dalmatian.

I tell you, the day is stress-testing itself, and these Sidewalks wish that it’d just gone straight. Geese Take this sky-hairing wind for granted, as they

Land on the lake like memorable speech on The sensitive soul. Time is never sharp, but it’s Cutting something in the credit union. Maybe

It’s dancing a back Corte for the woman in line Thinking about the taste of limes from Temecula As she waits for the teller. Air Alaska and that

Haunted pie in the sky are not the only reasons For all the volatility in the air today. Rushing And perfectionism both produce a loss; behind

The Safeway Pharmacy, you’ll see the small Smells of both, sloshing around to the ticking- Sound of the ocean’s tides. I must admit, I am

Frozen in place by the sight of steam from Joe’s Burgers; it is poetry’s pale tongue, rising in And arousing the air. This neighborhood’s street-

Lights are more serious than kokeshi dolls. Lights From its windows outshine poison dart frogs. Maybe to forget about life for awhile, the lamps

Are focused on The Population Bomb? ‘Easy Tiger,’ all these incidents whisper. Each day’s A sign twirler’s dais; each corner a promise

Of something more in a different direction: it isn’t A marriageable daughter or impoverishment, But inguinal ingenuity plays a part, and that isn’t

Bad at all. What oaths and paths went here Before Walmart? What voices were voided by The liquor store? What are vague’s values

When the library shares a parking lot with a 24- Hour gym and a cargo cult? Gas stations satirize                                                                           The Queen of Hearts; I tell you, it makes every

Question seem incidental. Treaty-breakers in Pajamas swing on the swing sets. Was August That full of angst? It feels like autumn went too

Far on accident. Desertification, in a sugar tong Splint, takes a shot of ouzo and talks shit About the death of Brutus, but my Bible-thumping

Memory – on a ski hill in Duluth – is also too busy Watching some ducks on the lake to notice; and Desertification makes a face at me like a Swedish

Film. Poets make for poorly picked men to Familiarity’s paymaster-general. The Calvinistic Rain is an ill-starred attempt to make mayonnaise-

Fries just for me, but I must admit, it all seems – You know – cybernetic. And step-motherly as all Get out, if you ask the trees. They prefer “You

Can’t Hurry Love,” by The Supremes, to any Changes that take effect in one to two pay periods. Pretext ricochets; a perfect reverse promenade.

At Summer Lake, When the Vegetables are Sleeping

Cruelty drinks all the wine, and never gets drunk On these shores. When Summer Lake speaks, In every word, an introduction to the world. I am

Easily duped. The greatest duper duplicates my pride, Which always lingers, in the hallways of my heart And beneath the surface of Summer Lake. The sky is

Supplicating, it’s literally shaking. An hour passes Faster here, the hour always held too dearly dear In paranoid and ivied walls. The ducks can do

An unwise thing correctly, and it sounds more like Dusty than Buffalo Springfield to the enokitake Sold in Springfield, Illinois, which is the opposite

Effect it has on the wild mushrooms on these shores. On cables capable of love, the geese convince The weather to taste like kvass today. Basically,

Another Cuban Missile Crisis drowned itself just Now. The clouds might ask themselves, ‘Is lowliness Allowed here?’ To which the crows might ask,

‘Does omertà sound like lightning?’ The answer’s Oubliette is ten times worse than impotence. Summer Lake isn’t smart, but it stays quiet, like

Someone too smart to say all they know. ‘Whoa, Sweet potato,’ the capital gains tax mutters To itself, knowing that what matters doesn’t mean

A thing. Some say the lake bottom’s sands receive Commands from Hearst Castle, others say Its hands are King City’s hands, and still others

Maintain more sins have been than grains of sand Times secondary gains, and that explains The beauty and industry that none can see but

All can feel on these shores. (Some possibilities Play possum, or get opsonized by hate; this one snores Like Rip Van Winkle.) This orb-weaver spider is

The Milton Friedman of Summer Lake, the wind On her web is Grenache from The Rocks District Of Milton-Freewater AVA for the eyes. The day is

Stereotypical, although it feels like three days In one…But for the lake’s good counterfactual Questions, I would forget that some die young,

But most die wrong. I’ve tried to pick up Summer Lake’s reflections in three lines or less, but The hardest truth is your own impotence. Oh,

It’s hard to hand your power over to a thing No one can see. Hopped up on distinctions – not The obvious distinctions – Summer Lake is pretty;

Cold, but pretty! In the distance, with so many Intercessory prayers, hot air balloons are rising; Shaped like teardrops, upside down and rising.

This lake re-something-or-anothered me. Are first Impressions wrong sometimes? I am a season’s Golden calf, according to the sunlight, doing

A prospector’s jig on the surface of Summer Lake. If not for the Weimar Republic’s wooden- Headedness, I’d set down my heart-song and

Listen to reason on these shores. I never trust An activist guitar, if the weather is socially clumsy. The future is reflected on the lake: it always

Laughs at us – between its math and gratitude Lessons – and never thinks of (or gives thanks to) Us enough. The presence in the lake juniors

My ears. The day is not too baffling, nor is it Jane Eyre. Space-themed and spiritual, some autumn Leaves are swimming in the rain. The ducks arrest

My attention in the mardy weather, even though they Must know my attention is dying. The barbed wire Around my stated goal is an outcome out of

Their control. Picnickers picnic with acorns and apricots, On blankets covering Holy Schnikey’s death mask. My unsandaled thoughts thrive and increase on these,

And no other shores. They are pets for the days less Important than love, when Summer Lake says it’s Humble, because it knows the right thing to say.

Summer Lake gives the comfort of commonly held And seriously absurd beliefs to the blue heron. Nothing is wrong with this lake or anything in it,

Not even the ghost of Amerigo Vespucci. It’s all so Simple to the stiff-necked molecules of water, made out Of frogs and snails and puppy-dog’s tails. These thoughts

Are fine manna in a fine ditch. Post-structuralist squirrels Can tell my heart’s in Italy, and I’m in the intellectual Laity. Chivalry’s technician sees my shovel, and they say,

‘You’ve got to hand it to him.’ Neurocysticercosis Sets the bar high; it looks at this park, and thinks The smartest monkey drew the perfect landscape.

That’s this maple tree’s previous disease, its precious One. It unfurls the ferns of my firm and foremost Beliefs, I’m told, to partialize insufferable vastidity.

We Install a Sump Pump on (What Used To Be) a Holiday (Take 2)

The oppressive heat was born a fully grown Man. I admire the result of its effort, but Despise the means of achieving it. My wife Asserts her individuality in the gunk; her Body’s allegations aren’t too soft or hard today. Her self-interest seems to have drowned in the vortex.

Our little garden knows flippancy with regards To privacy is unwise. The stepping stones can Only blather, as slugs draw nomograms on Their faces. My wife’s body speaks Proto-Indo- European in the vortex and denim overalls. Marc Chagall’s The Poet studies her. He calls her

‘Innocence: The opposite of life! A criminal with A badge!’ I hand her the tools of a crude and Rudimentary faith, and she says, ‘Jill, great books Make fine shackles.’ Her arms only have An administrative objective in the vortex, but They are where good things come from.

Jake Sheff is a pediatrician in Oregon and veteran of the US Air Force. He's married with a daughter and whole lot of pets. Poems of Jake’s are in Radius, The Ekphrastic Review, Crab Orchard Review, The Cossack Review and elsewhere. He won 1st place in the 2017 SFPA speculative poetry contest and a Laureate's Choice prize in the 2019 Maria W. Faust Sonnet Contest. Past poems and short stories have been nominated for the Best of the Net Anthology and the Pushcart Prize. His chapbook is “Looting Versailles” (Alabaster Leaves Publishing).

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Speak No Evil

No Archive Warnings Apply (see tags for warnings) Category: F/F Fandom: Avatar: The Last Airbender Relationship: Azula/Ty Lee (Avatar) Characters: Azula (Avatar)Ty Lee (Avatar)Mai (Avatar)Zuko (Avatar) Additional Tags: Romance, Eventual Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Manipulation, Healing, Recovery, Mental Health Issues, Blood and Injury, Injury Recovery, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Redemption

Summary: Azula, in the middle of a rocky redemption/recovery peruses an even shakier relationship with TyLee. Communication is difficult enough before she had lost the ability to speak. 

It is a nice night by most standards, a truly, genuinely beautiful night. Anyone would agree. Even she agrees. She has to when the facts are so objective. The temperature is just right it isn’t smoldering and it certainly isn’t cold. Azula always has been fond of the subtle rhythms created by palm fronds shaken by the wind. A gust that is subtle yet alluringly fragrant. She isn’t well versed in flora so she can’t name the precise scent, but it is floral and has a fruity tang. She thinks maybe pineapple and that the fruits may be in bloom at the moment. Everything is lush and green and the sand she lays in is soft. Albeit she isn’t fond of sand; it is messy and always lodges itself in the smallest, most unsavory places on the body. Namely she hates when it burrows under her nails, both finger and toe. And it is damn near impossible to shake out of her hair. She would rather not be laying in the sand.

But she has a nice view of the stars. They carefully arrange themselves into the most aesthetically pleasing alignment that they possibly can. They twinkle around a sliver of a moon. Just as she is no botanist, Azula is also not an astronomer; she can’t spot the constellations and she isn’t sure of which phase of the moon she is seeing.

The water also has its own charm. It’s steady rush and churning is a nice addition to the rustling fronds and the occasional iguana-parrot call. The toad-squirrels are also very lively tonight. Everything makes noise. Everything but her.

.oOo.

She had been home only for perhaps two months. Three times the charm, or so they say; she was coming out of her fourth relapse and was feeling no better about her psyche and overall health and wellbeing.

TyLee was waiting for her at the turtle-duck pond. TyLee always waited for her there. Well, always was a bit of a stretch. Sometimes she thought that TyLee couldn’t even stand to look at her, much less sit down and converse with her for a half an hour or better. But that day TyLee was waiting for her. Waiting and smiling as gleefully as ever. That was because she didn’t know… Granted, Azula hadn’t known either.

She sat herself at a good distance from the pond itself but near enough for TyLee to reach out and touch her.

“Good morning, Azula! How are you feeling today!?”

And that was it really. Perhaps she was in a mood, she must have been, because that was all it had taken. She was tired of that question over and over again. How patronizing it was to always have people inquiring about her moods as if they had any right to know. She didn’t need to constantly report back to them about her emotional state.

“I’m fine.” She snapped.

TyLee’s smile faded into a dull look of distress. She thought that the woman might have even flinched. This too, sent her reeling. That TyLee still didn’t trust her enough to not wince every time she expressed displeasure. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“L-like what?” TyLee asked.

“That!” Another flinch told her that she had raised her voice. She didn’t think that she had raised it that much. “Like you're still afraid of me.”

“I am still afraid of you.” TyLee confessed abruptly before bringing her hands to cover her mouth.

Azula looked over the little bundle of flowers that TyLee had laid down next to a platter of strawberry cheesecake and the petals that she had sprinkled around the dainty teacups. It was arranged so flatteringly and her favorite flavor of mochi sat neatly at the center of the picnic blanket. It wasn’t a gesture of love, Azula concluded, but one of fear. TyLee had gone to great lengths because she was afraid of what the princess would do if she didn’t.

Azula surmised that all of this was foolishness,  that it was all a lie. That she had wasted her time thinking that there could ever be trust and love without fear. She swallowed once before the pangs of regret and sadness gave way to anger and frustration. It was more self directed but that didn’t stop TyLee from wincing again.

Azula wished that she wouldn’t have. Maybe if TyLee hadn't winced...hadn’t made her feel like one, she wouldn’t have become a monster. Again. She sneered, her eyes flashing with a fury that even she was plainly aware was unwarranted. “Oh, I haven’t given you a reason to be afraid yet, but I can.”

“You already have.”

“So that’s what this is then? You only put this,” she gestures to the food, “together because you’re afraid of what I would have done if you...”

“I put it together because it makes you happy. And you’ve been so upset lately...”

She gave a bitter laugh. “Don’t lie to me, TyLee. You’re a dreadful liar. I know what you think of me...”

“Azula...”

She lifts her hand up. “Just clean all of this up, I hate strawberries anyways.” She lies. “Just like I’ve always hated your ditzy, happy-go-lucky façade.”

.oOo.

But she never hated any of it. Truly, it was and is what keeps her hanging on. From entirely losing herself again. She supposes that it doesn’t matter anymore. It is too late to take it back. It is too late to do anything anymore. To do anything but lay there and wish her struggles away.

Blood trickles from the side of her mouth.

She should have done better. She should be better. She promised TyLee that she would, but she had lied again. She didn’t mean it, but it has been done. It can’t be salvaged. She can’t be salvaged. She is well aware that she has been running through chance after chance and she doesn’t think that she has many left, if any at all. She wishes that she were a better person. She wishes that she knew how to love a person correctly... She has a lot of wishes.

There is a lot of blood. The trickle is more like a steady floor. It fills her mouth. Swallow or spit, more comes up to replace it. She touches a trembling hand to the side of her mouth. It is so thickly slick. But the night is so pretty, so glorious, so lushly fragrant and the night noise is so soothing. She thinks that it may be trying to hum her to sleep. She thinks that when she goes to sleep that she will wake amid those diamond-dust clouds or that she won’t wake at all.

She shouldn’t but she does. She closes her eyes. “Just clean all of this up, I hate strawberries anyways. Just like I’ve always hated your ditzy, happy-go-lucky façade.”

She wishes that it weren’t the last thing she had said.

[criquette-was-here]

Long Awaited Replies

Hello everyone! It’s been awhile since my last activity here. Stuff’s just got real last few months and I am now experiencing some heavy RLS which makes the future of the whole Feverfew project quite uncertain. I’m very annoyed by the fact I have to move the release date over and over again, but, fingers crossed, I’ll be able to manage to make it this year. But before I post any updates, I need to answer my inbox!

@landgraabsims​ said:

feverfew is absolutely gorgeous!! is it inspired by any real-life places or towns? i live in england and it reminds me of a few in-the-middle-of-nowhere villages i've visited c:

Thanks @landgraabsims​! Yes, Feverfew is based on British countryside aesthetics without any towns or villages in particular. It has a bit of everything, really. It’s a fantasy place after all. But I do use a lot of real life references for making landmarks for it.

Anonymous said:

any idea of the date of release for feverwood? just redownloaded sims 2 and im in loveee

Hey Anon! I’m glad you like it! I really hope to make it happen this year.

Anonymous said:

i would die (or pay) for zagoskin omg it looks like TS3

Oh, thank you, Anon!

@katzengirl​ said:

Hello Criquette! I don't have a challenge or a question or a request. I just wanted to tell you that I appreciate the things you've shared with us! I hope you're having a good day.

Hello Kristina! That is so sweet, thank you ^___^ I hope you’re doing fine too!

Anonymous said:

Hi there, Criquette. Been having fun with your Rural Charm set and the Better Lighting.  Ran into one small problem with the RC. One of the narrow curves picks up the texture from a road section with a crosswalk, so that looks a bit odd (30degree inner?).  And a question - is there a Better Lighting for the Iron Bracket street lamp with the seasons banner?  Thought the iron bracket would work, but it's not. Anywho, Thank You for ALL the work you put into making our hoods look fantastic!

Hey Anon! Thanks! Depending on the road DR you’re using, there can be some  texture issues here and there since Rural Charm is optimised for road texture without any markings (apart from the broken white line). As for the Iron light post with a banner – no. I’ve only made 2 Maxis’ base game lamp posts.

Anonymous said:

It's amazing how this one game embraces so many different types of players. I'm planning to create my very own nh from scratch, and I'd be a liar not to recognize how your game pics inspired me to the task (not to mention your ever impressive work of hood deco cc throughout these years). For all that, as much as I'm just another anon, thank you, sincerely. But that left me wondering: do you also/still play with the other ts2 game modes or they no longer interest you?

Oh, that is so kind, Anon. Thank you! Yes, I do love to actually play the game. I enjoy building/decorating lots as much as live mode. In fact, I often get carried away during playtest sessions and just keep playing in lot mode and that’s why there are lots like ‘The Tower Inn’ or ‘The Moose & Beaver’ or sims like Tilda Phidbach, WHT-FC28 servo and their field lab.

Anonymous said:

Criquette, do you know something about this project? thesims1master tumblr (the idea is to make the game look like the beta version. I ask, because I liked it so much, but I haven't been able to find the person behind it and I'm very curious to see more or download it, as well as his world, which I've been waiting for since last year lol)

Hey Anon! Oh, I don’t think I know anything about this project, no. But it looks rather interesting!

@forever-evenfall​ said:

Hey Criquette! I just downloaded your Lighting Remedy (because I only just realised I needed to change the txt file and not just download it lol) and when I placed your lighting text in the program files, the lighting itself worked, but the terrain itself was flashing red. Do you know what I did wrong? I literally don’t think I can play without the fix lol. I am using UC and I placed it in the Fun With Pets/SP9/TSData/Res/Lights folder. Should I have put it somewhere else?

Hello Eve! I might be wrong, but isn’t it Mansions & Gardens SP that stands for UC? Anyway, flashing red terrain is really weird consequence for just replacing a txt file. Neighborhood terrain doesn’t have any dynamic light. It has a light map instead which comes with Lighting remedy too. If you only just replace the lighting txt file without putting LR light map into your ‘Downloads’ folder, the only issue you should get would by unsynchronized light directions for hood decos and the terrain itself.

Anonymous said:

I'm having a problem: not all the decorations I put in the neighborhood are showing up in simulation mode, even with the fade off and the long-range vision on. I think there is some code that I need to add to the game files to make all the decorations appear. But I can't find how to do this: c Can you help me?

Hello Anon! Basically, there’s only one type of hood deco that isn’t showing up in lot mode and that is neighborhood effects. All the decals, flowers, fields, all the animated stuff (except for texture animation, e.g. Maxis’ marquee sign) is not showing up in lot mode. There’s nothing we can do about it. Yet. If you think that there’s a proper hood deco that isn’t showing up in lot mode, please PM me with some screenshots and we could try to sort it out.

Anonymous said:

Hello--Anon who asked about additional pieces for the Rural Charm set--I see now, thank you for explaining about the floating intersections.  Is there anything you recommend then, to add on to existing roads? Otherwise, thanks for taking the time to explain.

Hello Anon! Oh, you’re most welcome. There is a tedious way to replace a texture on the existing tile of the real road, to make in into intersection so that it would connect better visually with decorative road pieces. But that takes time. What you have to do is to determine the tile you want to edit using technique described in this tutorial and then you have to change the texture name in the corresponding line. The texture names for the intersections (their index name parts) can be found in any road DR beforehand.

@sunradersimblr​ said:

Hi, I'm just wondering if you've ever done hood deco of a highway rest stop like the type we see in the U.S. along interstates and state highways, just a green space, usually, with toilet facilities and a place for a picnic and parking lot? I need one for a story and thought I'd check with you. Thanks for all the great work you share! 

Hello Sunrader! That would be really nice addition for the highway set, but I haven’t made it. Thought it’s quite possible to make something similar if you use ‘One side exit piece’ from the motorway set and add some picnic tables, umbrellas and benches using street tables & benches set. There’s also many 4t2 deco conversions for toilets and other small size decos that would help to create a decent resting stop.

@nataliepop​ said:

Hi there Criquette! There's a new game called Townscaper which I think you'd like. The architecture has an English aesthetic and you build cities or towns but it all starts on an ocean. It's in early access, so I hope by the time it officially releases they add boats and piers. Look it up on Steam or Youtube. I saw it via someone who usually does Cities Skylines videos. Btw, have you ever played that? Also, apart from sims what else do you enjoy playing? Anyway, hope you are having a good day!

Hey Natpop! Thanks for a lovely game suggestion! I’ve checked it out and it looks really fun. Can’t say I’d play it though XD All my free time (which I don’t have atm) is reserved for simming hood deco making working on Feverfew ^^

Anonymous said:

hey~ i love all of your stuff, you're so talented (๑♡⌓♡๑) i wanted to ask, do you think you'll ever release feverfew's sc4 map? 

Thank you Anon! That’s very kind. I’m not sure if there’s any point in releasing SC4 map I used for Feverfew because it’s completely differs from the way it looks now. The road layout is different, there’s no canal, no islands on the river, hills are different, etc. It has been heavily terraformed and edited during development process. I’d recommend just to wait till the Feverfew neigborhood release.

Anonymous said:

Hi! Do you have any idea of when Feverfew will be released? :) 

Hey Anon! It will be released this year, hopefully!

Anonymous said:

Hello :D Is it possible to get your linden trees as lot objects in build/garden section? I love them and they beautify my neighborhood but could really use an option to select them on lots too :)

Hello Anon! Yes, that’s possible, though I can’t say if I could make it myself. What I can say though, is that there’s a linden trees redux coming soon. It would make linden trees look better and highly optimised so that it would only take 4,5 Mb instead of 60 Mb without any losses in texture quality and resolution. 

[marvelousstevetony]

That’s What Friends Are For

Set in a world where all the Avengers live happily together in Avengers Tower. Everyone gets along, no friendship-threatening arguments (Civil War who?). Pre-slash stevtony, the Avengers are good friends. 

This will (hopefully) have multiple parts :)

Part 1: 

————————

Spring in New York city is slowly setting in. The weather is getting warmer, the trees are coming into leaf, the flowers are blooming, and the birds are tweeting and chirping like their lives depend on it, so loud that you can hear it in spite of the noisy traffic in the busy city. Couples are going on walks and picnics in Central Park, children are eating ice cream, and people are wearing shorts and t-shirts, even though it is still slightly too chilly whenever the light breeze catches on. 

Even the Avengers love the transition from the cold and frosty winter, to the sunny and joyful spring-time.

All things considered, spring is lovely, and most of if not the entire team would argue that it is the best time of the year to spend in New York.

Well, that excludes Steve. Steve was not having any of it. 

“ehhTIISH’oo! Ugh.”

Because, for Steve, spring-time meant allergy-season. And Steve absolutely hated allergy-season.

Growing up, Steve probably had even possible seasonal allergy, and he had hoped they’d faded away as he got the serum. But just like Dr. Erskine had said. The serum amplifies everything that’s inside. Good becomes great. Bad becomes worse. 

Steve hadn’t considered that would also apply to his allergies. At least his asthma isn’t as bad, which he doesn’t quite understand why, but definitely doesn’t complain about. The allergies, though? Well, they don’t appear as frequent as they used to, at least not for longer time periods, but when do hit him. Oh God, that’s a whole different story.

“uh-huhTSCHusshh! SNFF! h’UHh… uhhISCHIEW!” 

He sneezes off to the side, his hair falling into his eyes as his waist snaps in half. Rubbing at his itchy eyes, he lets out a stuffy sigh and leans back in his chair.

He’s waiting for the rest of the team to turn up for the mandatory post-operation debrief and, as usual, Steve’s the first to show. Somehow, even when voluntarily coordinating search and rescue, he always manages to escape medical and get ready to close up for the day. Maybe it’s because he hates procrastinating, or maybe he’s just too exhausted and beat up to keep his head clear for long. Today, it’s definitely the latter. 

He wants nothing more than to just go to bed, but he has an important work meeting afterwards. As if fighting off an army of robotic aliens wasn’t enough for one day.

“SnffSNF! huhh- hutschhuh! he-uhh…” He brings up an arm, aiming the sneeze at his elbow, keeping it up as he feels another one coming on, but it’s stuck. Great, he thinks to himself and lets out a congested grunt.

“You hangin’ in there, Stevie?” 

Looking up with bleary eyes, Steve sees Bucky emerging from the door. He’s leaning against the door frame, his hair still damp from sweat and kept in a bun, a teasing smirk playing on his lips.

“uhh… yeeh- yeah, I’m fine. snf! Just wanna get this over with.”

“That makes two of us,” Bucky moves to sit down next to Steve, wincing slightly when he rolls his shoulder.

“Your arm okay?” Steve frowns a little, concern clear on his face. He knows not to worry too much, but he can’t help it.

“It’ll be okay,” Bucky shrugs. “Stark’s going to take a look at it after debrief. If he and the rest of them could speed the fuck up and actually get here,” he quips with a grin.

Steve huffs a laugh and gives a nod. “Yeah. Should be here soon enough, I hope. I have to be somewhere after this.”

Bucky cocks an eyebrow at him. “Yeah, in bed after a long shower. That’s where you should be. You look like shit.”

“Gee, thanks, Buck. Always so supportive,” Steve jokes, lightly nudging Bucky good shoulder. “Wish I could be going to bed, though. Have a meeting, can’t miss it.”

“Y’know, this is the worst time for you. You literally spent hours outside today. Pollen count’s ridiculous. You’re going to be a mess — a bigger mess — by tonight.”

“I know,” Steve sighs heavily and harshly scrubs at his face. Just hearing someone say the word pollen makes his face prickle and his nose twitch uncontrollably. Steve sniffles quickly, and Bucky notices it immediately and quickly grabs a tissue from the side table and hands it to Steve, who thankfully accepts it. 

“Bless ya, punk,” Bucky says preemptively, smiling sympathetically. 

Steve gives him a displeased glare before burying his face in the soft material. “tiisshh! ish! heIIiishh! Guhh.” He sniffles thickly, and groans annoyedly. He’s gotten to the point where the sneezes do nothing apart from making him even more sniffly. Ridding the itch, it definitely does not.

“Those didn’t sound helpful at all,” Bucky murmurs and gives Steve’s shoulder a squeeze. 

Steve just shakes his head and worries at his nose with the tissue. “They weren’t.” 

Bucky glances over his shoulder, hoping that the rest of the team will enter soon enough, but it seems unlikely. He grunts as he stands and walks towards the door. “I’ll go tell them to get their shit together and hurry.”

Steve doesn’t get to object before Bucky has left the room, and, somehow, everyone is gathered in the room less than five minutes later. (How Bucky did that is a mystery to Steve. He’ll have to ask him how to do that later.)

***

About halfway through the debrief, Steve is ready to die. He’s kept fairly composed so far; frequent sniffles and teary eyes, but no sneezing yet. They are just about to discuss the damage and decide how to clean up to city after the numerous destructions when Steve’s nose starts tickling.

“Casualties?” he hears someone ask, but he’s too busy trying to fight off the itch, rubbing his nostrils with his knuckles, to perceive who asked. 

“Still unclear… 300 confirmed so far. Could be more,” Fury answers seriously. “We’ll hopefully have exact numbers once the city’s cleared.”

Steve tries to focus, he really does, but the tickle is growing stronger and his breath starts catching in small, desperate gasps. He turns to stifle a quick double into his shoulder, not wanting to draw any unnecessary attention to him. 

“hehNGXTt! hii’YINgch!”

Bucky could recognize that withheld sound anywhere, but he knows Steve wouldn’t want everyone’s eyes staring at him so he refrains from blessing him. Natasha, who everyone knows is extremely observant, also seems to notice as she eyes Steve when his body jerks slightly. She catches Bucky’s eyes as they’re both watch their miserable friend, and the look they share doesn’t need any words. 

Steve doesn’t even get a chance to breathe before the tingling sensation comes back, more powerful than before, and Steve knows it’s a loosing battle.

“huh- HhhehISHhoo!”

As expected, the group turns to look at him and mumbles a chorus of blessings.

“Bless ya,” he hears Bucky mumble quietly, and Clint offers a gesundheit, which seems to be his standard reaction to anyone who sneezes. Natasha discretely reaches for a tissue, presses it into his hands under the table and nods demandingly at it. 

As he subtly wipes his nose with it, it seems to bring the tickle back and Steve cups his face and lets the sneezes slip out.

“h’tSCHHoo! Hih! Eh’hrushhoo!”

He sighs defeatedly and nods his thanks when a few people bless him. 

Tony, who’s been uncharacteristically quiet, narrows his eyes at Steve. He’s spent the better half of the debrief doing anything but pay attention to what Fury was saying, impatiently waiting for the meeting to finish. Noticing Steve’s bleary eyes and his pink nostrils, Tony figures Steve wants Fury to shut up even more than he does, which in itself in an accomplishment. 

As if Tony looking at him makes Steve’s nose twitch, Steve’s eyes flutter and his nose scrunches up. 

“tishh! ehhIIiishh’oo! heihhUushiew!” The fit is ticklish, makes his throat scratchy and Steve can feel the congestion pressing behind his eyes and sinuses. 

Tony is now on the verge of snapping, telling Fury to shut it and round up so Steve doesn’t have to suffer any more than he already is. The guy seriously needs something to help him breathe. Tony wonders if Claritin is strong enough or if he’s going to have to spend the entire night figuring out some kind of super-soldier-allergy-shot, because he just couldn’t take another look at Steve literally sneezing his brains out. So he figures he has to stop Fury before Steve’s going to die on them. Well, dying might be an exaggeration, but judging from Steve’s expression it’s not too far off. (If anyone asks, though, it’s because Steve’s constant sniffling is annoying as hell, but in reality, Tony can’t help but feel sympathetic for his friend. Nobody can know that. Tony doesn’t do sympathy.)

He considers making JARVIS send out some sort of emergency alarm to stop the meeting, but he figures getting on Fury’s wrong side is a bad call, so he bites tongue, and impressively so. He is Tony Stark, after all, and he’s not exactly known for keeping his mouth shut. Especially when he should. But this time, he does. He makes a mental note to tell that to Pepper. She would be so proud. 

***

When the debrief is finally over, Steve is half asleep, his head resting on his hand. The ten minutes of nearly  constant sniffling and sneezing in the middle of the meeting exhausted him deeply, even his nose seemed too tired to itch anymore.

He doesn’t even recall the debrief ending before Bucky nudges him and he jerks awake, sitting up straight. People are shuffling out of the room as he blinks the confusion away. 

Nat and Bucky are already standing up when he’s back to consciousness, both smiling solicitously at him. 

“You really should be going to bed, punk,” Bucky frowns a little and Steve responds with a shrug.

“I might actually agree with Barnes on this one. You look wiped out. I think you’ve earned some well deserved rest after today, soldier,” Natasha winks kindly. 

“Yeah, well, you tell Fury that,” Steve sighs. “Don’t worry ‘bout me, though. I’ll be going straight to sleep when I’m finished.” 

Natasha playfully ruffles his hair, Bucky gives him an affectionate pat on the arm, and with that, the two of them flees the room. 

Steve still hasn’t raised himself from the chair. His body feels heavy and drained, and for once, he might actually consider procrastinate going to the meeting. Pinching the bridge of his nose as he squeezes his eyes shut, he takes another moment to mentally prepare dealing with Fury, once again. 

“You getting attached to the chair there, Rudolph?” Tony teases with a perky smile as he walks towards Steve, who is surprised by the sudden voice. He hadn’t even noticed he wasn’t alone. 

“Huh? Oh, yeah. I guess so,” he chuckles lightly. “I have to be somewhere I definitely don’t want to be.”

“Meeting?”

Steve nods despairingly and Tony clicks his tongue.

“That sucks… You sound like someone who needs some time to relax. And to find some medicine. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this. I mean, God, you’re pathetic,” Tony jokes and the corners of Steve’s mouth quirk upwards. 

“You probably haven’t. I can’t even remember the laahhst time I-I snf! felt like thiiihs. Huhh- huEEIishh’oo!” Steve says through hitchy breaths and rushes to finish the sentence before catching a quick single in the tissue he still has in his hand.

“Bless you.”

“Tha- thaahuhISHH! Sorry, thanks,” he snuffled into the crumpled piece of fabric. “h’ESHhihh! Oh, Lord have mercy on me.”

Tony hands him a fresh tissue and Steve gratefully accepts it, giving a quick, ineffective blow. By this point, he’s basically unable to breathe through his nose, but he doesn’t want to gross Tony out any more than he already is. 

Tony, however, doesn’t seem to mind. “Damn, Rogers, you’re on a roll, huh? Look. I can probably pull a few strings, get you out of whatever torture they’re sending you into.”

“Are you- really?” 

“Sure,” Tony shrugs.

“That- that would actually be really nice,” Steve admits shyly. He’s normally not one to ask for help, but Lord knows he needs it right now. “I owe you one.”

“Nah, don’t worry ‘bout it,” Tony waves a hand. “You’ll just have to make me breakfast for the next three months, get me coffee whenever I want, babysit Clint-“

Steve laughs and elbows him.

“No, really. It’s nothing, Cap,” he says as he stands up and offers Steve a hand, which the soldier grabs and pulls himself to his feet. They exit the room together walking towards the elevator. 

“Do you normally sneeze this much, by the way? I mean, you’ve probably sneezed, like, 30 times in he last hour.”

“huUShh’oo! Uhh, I-I don’t think so. I gue-. Tony?” Steve interrupts himself as Tony stopped in his tracks.

“That was so weird. Did you just sneeze on command. Like, literally just as I said the word?”

“I think there’s just a pretty good chance of me sneezing at any second, Tony.” He chuckles and shakes his head fondly.

Tony follows up and the two of them walk in silence until they reach the elevator. 

“So. You go take a shower, and I’ll see to get you some meds after talking to Fury… If I’m not there in an hour or less, send out a search team, just in case Fury actually kills me,” Tony jokes.

Steve smiles tiredly at Tony as he presses the ‘up’  button on the elevator. “Thanks again, Tony. I really appreciate it.”

***

“Stark!”

Tony sighs at the sound of the recognizable voice and turns on his heels. He had to face it sooner or later.

“Nick! Always a pleasure,” Tony smiles overly wide at Fury, who rolls his eyes over someone using his first name, but ultimately decides to ignore it. It’s been a long day already, and Fury is not in the mood to deal with Tony and his sharp-witted tongue right now.

“Where’s Rogers?”

“Rogers? You mean Steve? Oh, um about that… He’s in his room,” Tony says innocently. 

“In his—? I hope he’s aware of the fact that we’re having a meeting in less than five minutes?” Fury cocked an eyebrow.

“Yeah, so… He’s not going to be there. Sorry. He’s having some… trouble. You know, you saw him at debrief, I don’t think he’d be able to—“ 

“God damnit, Rogers,” Fury mutters under his breath, then scowls. “I’ll let this one slide. But only this once. It’s been a long day, anyways.”

Huh. That went a lot smoother than Tony had anticipated. Fury actually wasn’t completely heartless.

“I’ll be sure to pass on the message. Good talk, Director,” Tony claps Fury on the shoulder and is immediately out. As he walks, he gives his body a shake. He seriously hated biting his tongue, acting nice and actively trying to avoid pissing anyone off, and even a five sentence conversation with Fury was a stretch, but he thinks he did okay, all things considered. He makes another mental note to tell that to Pepper as well. She’d be even prouder. 

***

“Knock knock.” Tony calls. “Cap?”

“In heeh-here! Hur’ESHH!”

Strolling towards the bedroom where the response came from, Tony tries to balance all the remedies he’d picked up on his way. The door in ajar, and Tony pushes it open with his shoulder, both hands and arms occupied. As soon as he enters the room, he suddenly drops about half of the things he’d been carrying on the floor.

In front of him stands Steve. His hair is damp from the shower and falling into his eyes. He’s wearing a pair of oversized joggers that would look ridiculous if they were worn by anyone but Steve. His cheeks are flushed pink from the heat from the shower and his nose a similar shade but probably for entirely different reason. That, and he’s not wearing a shirt. 

He’s not wearing a shirt, Tony repeats in his mind. Damn. Tony has seen Steve shirtless before, but this is usually after a battle when Steve’s covered in blood and sweat, and definitely not coming straight out of a warm shower with glowing and clean skin.

And then he realizes that he’d just dropped everything on the floor and bends down to start picking the things up. “Would it have hurt to put on a shirt?” Tony mumbles lowly.

“Sorry, I was just getting dressed,” Steve smiles sheepishly as he helps Tony fetch the things. “You really went to town with the remedies, huh?” 

Tony shrugs. “You know me. Why choose one when you can have them all?”

“Because it’s unnecessary?” Steve teases. “Seriously, though, the tissues had been just fine.”

“Ugh, are you always this unappreciative? God, how rude of you, Rogers.”

Steve laughs and shakes his head fondly. “That’s not what I meant. I really do appreciate it, but you shouldn’t have gone out of your way to all get this.”

“Aaand he’s back to being good, old, righteous Captain America… should have known. I didn’t, by the way. I ran into Nat and Barnes. They were on their way to provide you with all of these different supplies and medicines. If I’m being honest, which, obviously, I always am, I don’t even know what half of these things are.”

“Probably won’t work on me anyways. Medicine usually doesn’t with my metabolism,” Steve says as he reaches for the box of tissues Tony had dropped. 

“Hm… You seem better, though?” Tony asks and Steve nods in agreement.

“Yeah, I think the shower did me good. I was probably covered in whatever is bothering m-me, huh— huhhISH’iew! Maybe not entirely, though” Steve comments after a sudden, strong sneeze crept up on him.

With a wry smile, Tony stands up and puts the stuff on Steve’s bedside table. He turns on the night light as Steve grabs the shirt he had laid out on the bed and pulls it over his head. 

“So.” 

“So,” Steve echoes.

“I’ll get going, and you, big guy, are heading straight to sleep,” Tony commands, eyeing the perfectly made bed, because of course Steve’s bed would be flawlessly made. Everything just has to be in order when it comes to Steve. He really is a hundred years old, Tony thinks. 

Steve chuckles and obeys, his bare feet making soft and quiet noises as he pads across the hard wood floor.

“Yessir,” Steve says, shuffling to get under the duvet. “Oh, and thanks again, Tony.”

“That’s what friends are for. See you tomorrow, Winghead,” Tony smiles and shuts off the ceiling light. The bedside lamp illuminates Steve’s face with golden beams. His expression is tired and gentle and thankful.

“See you tomorrow, Shellhead,” Steve returns. 

And with that, Tony closes the door to Steve’s bedroom. He stays outside for a few seconds until the weak light that shines through the key hole goes out and smiles satisfied.

***

[a-lame-follower]

Prompt: Double-Date Pairings: Glimmadora, Entrapdak WARNING: Bad writing. (Hey, at least I'm honest)

If they lived through this, Glimmer mused to herself as she shifted the basket from one arm to the other, she was going to seriously consider outlawing puppy dog eyes. To some that might seem drastic, but She had proven far too susceptible to its influence in the past. This situation was just one layer of icing on a multi-tiered cake made with bad decisions and baked in regret.

"I don't know how she convinced me this was a good idea." She said, more to herself than to her companion. "It's not like Hordak ever shown any inclination or desire to connect with others before...right?"

She let her words trail off into a question. For all the negative influence the man had previously had over her life, she couldn't say that she actually knew him personally, not really. Before the planetary bioweapon snafu, the catastrophic mess that was Horde Prime, and before whatever it was that was going on between him and Entrapta, it had been simple. All she'd needed to know was that he'd murdered her father and was a threat to the peace of Eternia. Now, with her father suddenly back from the grave and Hordak relinquishing his title as number one big scary warlord, she didn't know what to think anymore. Well, she thought she'd like to go back to the good old days where things made sense. Back then, all she’d had to do was attack people who attacked her. Inconveniently, that option was no longer available for her. For whatever reason, the fates had decided she had to be "mature" now. Fate could go throw itself off a cliff.

"No, you're right," Adora said, holding a basket of her own. Her voice was a little too cheerful to be genuine. "Hordak has all the charming sociability of a rock."

"Are you sure that's not unfair to the rock?" Glimmer said, smiling and reaching out her free hand to let her partner know she valued her company. Adora seemed grateful for the gesture and clasped the young Queen's hand in her own.

"I stand corrected. " the blonde said after that momentary pause. "I guess I owe the rocks an apology.'

"You could. " she agreed, "But then you'd spend the rest of your life apologizing." She sighed dramatically. "We'd probably never have the time to be alone together again. "

"I can do both!" The taller of that two women objected, before smiling to show she knew she was merely being teased. "But, I guess that is a lot of rocks." She acknowledged sheepishly, those sweet blue eyes meeting hers. "Promise not to tell on me?"

"It'll be our little secret." Glimmer assured before filling the distance between them, standing up on her too toes to capture Adora's lips. Smiling fondly down at the young Queen’s actions, Adora leaned in closer, silently encouraging her partner to seal their pact with a kiss. She felt those gentle lips gently press against her own when-

"They apologize to rocks." A voice growled, practically dripping with condescending disbelief. "How is it that my soldiers have not defeated you?"

-They were rudely interrupted by the arrival of the two people they had been waiting for in the first place. Adora grew rigid, dropping her basket and raising the sword she had used since she'd shattered her old one. Releasing Glimmer’s hand, her body settled into fighting stance, partially sheilding Glimmer from the man’s sight. She might have attacked if Glimmer hadn’t taken that moment to gently stroke her warrior’s arm to settle her. It would help no one if they acted rashly. The princess frowned, clearly uncomfortable in the former warlord's presence.

"Hello, Hordak." Glimmer said with a peace so artificial she knew it fooled no one. She could control the wince that twisted her face as those unnaturally bright red eyes settled on her. She was acutely aware that Adora still hadn't lowered her weapon.

"No, no!" A nasal voice chirped cheerfully. "Obviously, they don't make a habit out of apologizing to just any naturally occurring solid mass or aggregate of minerals or mineraloid matter!" She moved closer to them, using her long purple pigtails to give her additional height."Otherwise, Adora would have already known the sheer magnitude of the assignment she was setting for herself and wouldn't have needed Glimmer to convince her it was a fool's errand." She hummed after a second of stillness, her gaze turning thoughtful. "Though I'm sure you both would have an excellent time spelunking in the caves beneath Bright Moon together." She clapped her hands enthusiastically. "I know I've enjoyed allmost all of my visits to Dryl's mines!"

"It's great to see you, Entrapta." Glimmer said, biting her lip. "I'll keep your idea in mind, but I'm pretty sure my dad would disapprove if I went spelunking on sacred ground with my girlfriend."

"That hardly seems fair." Entrants frowned at her. "Speleology and the geosciences are fascinating; " she waved her arms in palpable enthusiasm. "For all we know, your father could be hindering some marvel of scientific progress!"

Wary of saying something that might result in further association with the fright zone's former despot(like almost volunteering to go on a trip with Entrapta to visit said mines), Glimmer paused. Unsure where she she should take the conversation she looked to Adora for assistance. Instead, she found her lady locked in a staredown with the smirking pointy eared-eared goblin man himself. Apparently Hordak had no intention of making this easier on anyone else so it would be up to them to be obliging in addition to well-mannered.  She sighed deeply through her nose. Then she reached out to touch her protector's arm, tentatively advancing on her as one might approach an injured stable cat.

Sensing her movement, those stunning blue eyes sought her gaze and, after an instant's hesitancy, permitted the touch. Adora was stiff, but she'd expected that from her. This was harder on Adora than it was on her, after all.

He might not have been directly involved in the appalling treatment Adora had suffered during her time in the Horde. However, Hordak had been the Horde's leader on Eternia. As such, he still represented some of the worst it had to offer. What that might entail she was still learn at. Most were quiet things she could only guess at from cryptic words and dark hints left like breadcrumbs leading to a witch's cottage. Still, Adora had voluntarily offered to tag along when Glimmer had told her that Entrapta had somehow managed to wrangle the young Queen into going on an evening picnic with Hordak. She hadn't been required to accompany her, but she'd done it anyway. Her selflessness was just another reason among many to love her.

However, she thought as she brought her hand out to touch the sword, if they were going to be playing nice with Hordak, it was a little counterproductive to have their weaponry drawn and ready for the slaughtering.

It took a second or two, but upon getting the intended message from the smaller woman’s weighted stare, a pout formed on the other girl's adorable little face. It took every inch of Glimmer’s free will not to giggle at the presence of She Ra's greatest weapon.

Fortuitously, Adora understood the value of civility in potentially explosive situations such as this and sheathed the sword before Glimmer's free will could shatter like fine china in the face of her onslaught. Still, it was a very near thing. She couldn't even muster up the composure left to resist the urge to reach up and tousle Adora's fluffy hair. She received a dirty look under thoroughly rumpled bangs as a reward for her wicked act of treachery. Regrettably, she found it endearing rather than chastising, so she let out a mischievous little chuckle that earned a small forgiving smile from her girlfriend and questioning glances from their audience.

"Do you think they've forgotten we're here?" Entrapta asked the man standing beside her in a stage whisper. "I wouldn't normally question it, but they've been silent for several minutes and keep making strange faces at each other."

"They are still quite young," Hordak answered, voice drier than the crimson wastes at high noon. "I wouldn't be surprised in the least to discover they still struggle with object permanence."

" 'They' are very aware of your presence and would prefer you not speak to them like they are children," Adora grumbled, pointedly ignoring the scoff her statement received.

"As you say."

"Anyway." Glimmer said clapping her hands together with a pointed cough. "You wanted us to join you, Entrapta?" She hoped it wasn’t obvious to anyone else how hard she was struggling to regain control of the situation before one of the more volatile members of their party said something that set the other off. If they broke ties with one another she wanted it to be for a good reason. Bombing out of polite conversation 101 was not the droids she was looking for.

"Yes!" said a grinning Entrapta. Minutes before, the older woman had been growing visibly anxious at the heightening tensions she'd inadvertently played a part in inciting. At her name, her face had broadened with her good cheer, making no attempts to disguise her delight for the possible distraction. "Well, I was talking to Hordak the other day while we were recalibrating the base's underwater thermometers after feeding the fish when I learned that he's never been on a picnic before, and-"

"Wait, so he just suddenly decided he wanted to go on one?" Adora asked, confused. “I’ve had picnics described to me before and they always sounded way less enjoyable than they actually are.”

“Um...well, I can’t speak for what you’ve heard as I wasn’t there to witness it.”  Entrapta said, eyebrows furrowing as she stared at her hands rather than make eye-contact. “ But I can say there are numerous benefits to going on a picnic.” She smiled at Adora. “If you’d like I can show you the power point presentation I made for him later.”

Glimmer stared at the former tyrant incredulously, trying and failing to think of how that might come up in conversation between the two. Or how she’d managed to sit someone like Hordak down to a lecture. Or what kind of fish lived in the fright zone. That led to wondering what fish they kept and what they might feed them, before she stopped her mind from wandering in what was very likely a dangerous area. For however long they were to be temporary allies, some things she just didn’t want to know.

"She is very persuasive." He admitted, giving his partner a side-eye, which was met with an encouragingly grin that was nearly blinding in its warmth. Part of Glimer wondered if she was only imagining what appeared to be a subtle flush of heat settling around his ears. Hordak’s eyes glanced quickly from Entrapta to Glimmer then back again. His face grew more determined, as if daring the Queen to laugh.

"I can be that, yeah." she said softly before perking up. “Especially when the data speaks for itself!”

His thin lips upturned, cautiously returning the look she had sent his way. It was a small action, but still, Glimmer had to avert her eyes to avoid letting them witness her second-hand embarrassment. Was this how kids felt when their siblings flirted with people in public? She glanced at Adora and was thankful to know she wasn't the only one feeling discomfited by this. She was not looking forward to when Frosta began considering the possibility of making potential romantic connections.

'Anyway! " Entrapta continued, oblivious to their distress. "I couldn't let that stand when the solution was so readily available." She gave them a meaningful look.

"So you...thought of us? " Adora asked, her confusion obvious.

"Well, not you specifically," Entrapta corrected with a shrug, then grimaced when her friend visibly deflated. "But I am very glad to see you here Adora!"

"That's... That's good to know Entrapta."

"I thought Bow and Glimmer would be the best people to ask since they have prior experience with acquainting and Horde soldiers with everyday civilian activities. " She turned her head to the side, briefly concealing her face with her mask and turning her body away from them. "Well, I tried to ask Bow, but er, his parents got to the line first, and... let's just say they don't approve of Bow talking to Hordak. "

Entrapta drooped further, almost seeming to shrink before their eyes, neither girl knew how to respond to the usually cheerful scientist's change of demeanor. Glimmer doubted they had said anything against Entrapta; they were both caring, empathetic men the universe was better off having. Still, she wouldn't be surprised if they had tried to warn her to stay away from Hordak. Maybe it was a little hypocritical considering where she was and whom she was meeting but She knew she would certainly have banned any child of hers from associating with people who were friends with war criminals. Those two were kinder than she was by far and any hurt feelings were doubtlessly done on accident. But that still meant there were hurts in need of mending. After everything those two had been through, emotions ran deep. She made a mental note to ask Bow about what had happened later.

Talking about what had happened had seemed to take the wind out of Entrapta's figurative sails, and it wasn't until Hordak had marched forward and almost tenderly pushed her against his chest that Entrapta seemed to pull herself together. Glimmer might have been inclined to call what he was doing a hug, had the red eyes not promised death to everything she held dear if she so much as whispered that he might be capable of sentimental feeling.

One day she going to discover his secret to making common actions seem threatening and use that dark talent for something constructive.

"Anyway, with Bow out of the picture that left Glimmer." The Queen wondered if she should be offended that she was the second choice but reasoned that out of the two of them, Entrapta had probably connected with Bow better than herself.

"Thankfully, her dad was out when I called, so I didn't have to worry about protective parenting instincts making things all needlessly confusing." She smiled at Glimmer, unspoken gratitude shining in her eyes. She took a moment to lament the fact that she was being made to feel guilty for second-guessing this trip when the person doing it had no idea she was even doing.

"I'd have taken him by myself, but, well," She could no longer meet their gazes, and seemed content instead to make herself a permanent fixture to Hordak's tunic. "I haven't been on a picnic with people who aren't... y'know... a robot in years, and I wanted to make sure his first time was his best time, so to speak."

"I didn't know who else to turn to, and I acknowledge this request is a lot to ask of you, but..." Her voice was so low, they had to strain their ears to hear her. "I hope it's okay that I asked you to come?"

Silence reigned on both sides as she finished talking. Hordak was glaring at them, commanding them without words to consent to whatever Entrapta asked. Glimmer rolled her eyes at the clone to let him know that his intimidations, impressive as his figure might be, neither frightened her not influenced her decision-making in the slightest. A grunt of what could have been either irritation or amusement was her only response.

Having attempted to assert herself, she decided to put the man out of her mind for now. She was here for Entrapta, not him. Despite their complicated history, they shared a bond.

But... She wasn't the only one who mattered. She stretched out her arm to get Adora's attention. Her partner sent a questioning glance towards Glimmer then went back to watching the scientist with no small amount of concern.

"Are you sure about being here?" Glimmer asked, speaking quietly to ensure they weren't overheard. "She doesn't need both of us. "

"Where you go, so do I," Adora swore, face inscrutable as she grabbed the hand she'd released upon the arrival of the second half of their group.

"I can choose not to do this then." Glimmer said, lowering her eyes to their now connected hands. This was a terrible judgment to make, but she knew that if she was forced to choose, she'd pick Adora over Entrapta. She was her partner. Awful as it might make her feel, her companion's trauma came first. "I don't want you doing anything that will hurt you, Adora."

"You forget something," Adora said in a voice so low she nearly missed it. "Entrapta's my friend too."

Glimmer froze then raised her head to meet Adora's challenging stare. The blonde narrowed her eyes in the face of her companion's reluctance and nodded. The young Queen smiled at the further confirmation of the woman's courage. They might have more than a few reservations about associating with Hordak in any fashion, but they wanted to be there to support their friend where they could.

"We'd be honored to share this meal with you. "

Entrapta's shriek of happiness could have shattered glass.

She wasn't entirely sure, but as their friend began eagerly showing them a neatly catagorized list of all the food she'd had her servants prepare for the evening's events, she thought she might have caught a glimpse of what may have even been gratitude on Hordak's face. Whatever it had been was expertly hidden behind a deliberately neutral mask when she turned around to check.

[iwroteinapastlife]

Family

Oof this one was super hard to write, but I think I finally got there. Here’s day 27 of @mlrarepairmonth with more of that sweet sweet Brelix (continuing from day 24).

Day 27: Family

Ship: Bridgette x Félix

Twenty-six letters combined in millions of variations. Those combinations combined in millions more. Every combination of letters has its own meaning and, added to others, sends its own message, but at the end of the day, that’s all they are. Letters. Letters printed in ink on paper.

To Félix’s eyes that day, that’s all they were. Letters. Inconsequential shapes that he looked at but did not see as his mind remained lost in memory. Memory of green eyes looking up at him from beneath golden hair. Of a boy heavier than he remembered clutched tightly in leather clad arms.

A paper coffee cup appeared in front of him, set down gently by the figure now putting her feet on the bench next to him and taking a seat on the picnic table itself. Not closing his book, Félix looked up to where Bridgette smiled amicably, then to the cup in front of him. The paper tag at the end of the string hanging from the lid read Earl Grey.

He really wasn’t surprised she somehow knew his preferred tea.

Félix opened his mouth to tell her to go away, but she spoke before he could. “I know you’ve been avoiding me again. I don’t know why, but that’s your decision and I’ll respect it.”

“Then—,”

“Except for right now when you clearly need someone to talk to.”

Her expression was calm, gentle, but resolute—not to be budged—and it held all the kindness he didn’t deserve.

“I’m fine, Bridgette,” he said rigidly.

She gave him a sad sort of smile—an understanding smile—and he didn’t understand why she wouldn’t just hate him for his rudeness already. It worked on everyone else; why did she have to be so…her?

“You’ve been on that page for fifteen minutes.” He averted his gaze. If he was being honest, he didn’t even remember what the chapter was about. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Bridgette take a sip from her own cup—her tag read Apple Spice. “I heard your brother got attacked last night,” she said softly. “Does it have to do with that?”

A voice slightly deeper than he remembered screaming for help.

“He’s fine.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Félix looked up again and felt guilt stir in his chest as he was met with patient blue eyes. Too good.

He looked back at his book. He couldn’t even remember what it was about at this point.

Sighing in resignation, he closed the book and pushed it aside. The cup of tea felt warm in his hands. He let it thaw his frigid touch a few moments before finally, in a voice just above a whisper, he spoke aloud the words that had echoed through his mind since last night.

“It’s my fault.”

“How so?”

Leaving the house earlier than usual. Crossing paths unexpectedly. A bright smile catching him before it was too late. A 13-year-old boy running across the room. A frame taller than he remembered ensnaring him in a hug. Warm. Too warm not to hug him back.

A bodyguard akumatized later that day.

“Bad luck,” he finally muttered.

A cold breeze brushed past them. Félix raised the cup to his lips and took a sip, taking comfort in the warmth and familiarity of Earl Grey. At his side, Bridgette took another sip of her Apple Spice as she seemed to consider his words.

“That’s why you’re avoiding me again, isn’t it?”

An energy blast hurtling straight toward Bridgette Cheng. Just barely blocking it in time.

Félix nodded.

“You space yourself from everyone, don’t you?” she asked gently. “Even him.” He nodded and took another sip. “Do you talk to…anyone?”

He didn’t answer, hard gaze trained on the school courtyard, looking but not seeing. She seemed to accept that, falling silent and taking a sip of her drink. A few moments passed like that, both sitting in easy stillness, taking intermittent drinks to stay warm in the early February air. The sky was deceptively clear that day. The sunlight could only offer fleeting caresses of heat before it was brushed away by the wind. Still, it was nicer than it had been lately. A glimpse of the spring to come.

“Well,” Bridgette finally said, her normal energy slipping back into her voice, “I don’t think you’re bad luck.” Félix looked up again and opened his mouth to argue, but she didn’t give him the chance. “But even if you are,” she continued, setting those heart stopping blue eyes on him again, “it doesn’t matter. No one deserves solitude like that.”

He had nothing to say to that. Despite what his guilt might scream at him, he knew objectively speaking that he didn’t deserve this.

“Besides,” she shrugged, staring at the cup in her hands. “I’ve been told I’m good luck. So if you’re going to keep avoiding me, you’re going to need to come up with a new excuse.”

Then that kind, caring smile was turned to him again, sunlight glittering in those ever compassionate eyes, and he could feel the winter chill slip away.

He could drown in that blue.

Worse though, if he did, he was pretty sure he would choose to swim again.