#And it’s been like this for days… only to be mildly sedated by warm drinks

[soft-serve-soymilk]

Why is my heart beating so fast for 😐 like? Are you a blue anthropomorphic hedgehog? No? So leave me alone 😞

[goldenraeofsun]

just say yes

The latest installment of this verse... or 5 times Dean tries to propose to Cas.

Dean bites his lip as he scans the menu. What the hell is branzino, and where the fuck are the prices? He flips the flimsy piece of cream-colored paper over, but no dice. 

Thank god there’s a steak listed among the five lone entrees. It’s probably five times his normal dinner price tag, but Dean already made peace with putting off buying that 30 year anniversary Rush album. It’ll still be there after his next pay check. 

Cas eyes him over the top of his own menu. “What are you thinking?”

Marry me.

Dean doesn’t say that, though. He has plans. Keep his trap shut until dessert. Tell Cas he’s going to hit the head. Pull a waiter aside and ask for two glasses of champagne. Return to Cas. Hopefully not shit his pants as he proposes. Drink champagne. Go home and have fantastic engaged sex.

Dean has high hopes for the last part of the plan.

“Dean?”

Belatedly, he says, “The steak.”

Cas hums. “That does look good.” He ducks back behind his menu. “I was thinking of getting that too. But maybe not.”

Dean takes a hasty sip of water. “Get the steak if you want it, man. We don’t go to places like this often.”

“I think I’ll get the honey glazed salmon.”

“Sounds good,” Dean says lamely. He drinks more water. At this rate, he won’t have to fake the bathroom run.

Aren’t they supposed to have alcohol by this point? They’ve been sitting at their fancy-ass table in this fancy-ass restaurant for nearly fifteen minutes.

Maybe he shouldn’t have picked the newest five-star restaurant to propose to Cas. He’s already on edge from the pressure, and the pristine white tablecloth isn’t helping. He can already see five ways he’s gonna stain it. There are several forks in front of him. For fuck’s sake, this place has an actual chandelier. Dean hadn’t honestly thought they existed outside of billionaire mansions and Disney movies.

The live music is nice, though. A sedate piano tinkles in the background, barely audible over the buzz of polite dinner conversation.

Dean catches a glimpse of himself reflected in the dark windows to the street. He looks a little sweaty, but not as nervous as he feels, thank god.

This is stupid. He shouldn’t even be nervous.

They’ve talked about marriage before. They’re adults in an adult relationship, so popping the question out of the blue would go down like the time Dean swept Cas away for a surprise camping trip. Turns out, Cas did not like camping. Which Dean would have known if he had asked anytime in the past four years.

But… that marriage conversation was two years ago. Dean wasn’t ready then; they both weren’t. Cas was still in a bad place with Jimmy and Claire, and Bobby had just died, so they weren’t about to roadtrip to Vegas anytime soon.

Now, Claire can have a civil dinner with her parents, and the hole Bobby left in Dean’s life can go unnoticed some days.

The deal is, Dean can’t chicken out tonight. He already told Claire to make herself scarce. She can sleep at her parents’ or at Krissy’s, Dean doesn’t care, as long as she is not crashing on their sofa when they get back from dinner.

Dean would rather read a hundred plagarized student essays on The Very Hungry Caterpillar than admit to Claire he failed to ask Cas to marry him. 

So, proposal time.

The waiter comes by with their drinks and takes their orders. Conversation is a little stilted, but hopefully Cas chalks it up to Dean being outside his comfort zone in this fancy-ass place. There’s no steady thunk of darts hitting a board or clack of pool balls in the background to put him at ease. Just that lame piano.

Cas makes porn noises over his salmon at first bite, which Dean totally doesn’t get. It’s fish.

“How’s your steak?” Cas asks as he surfaces and dabs his mouth with his cloth napkin.

Dean belatedly slices off a piece of his meal and pops it in his mouth. A generically bland compliment dies on his tongue. Jesus Christ - that’s some good cow. It practically disintegrates before he can chew. “Great,” he tells Cas honestly.

Cas hums in contentment.

“And since you’re practically at third base with that salmon,” Dean starts, “I take it-”

“Oh my god!” a woman’s voice squeals behind them.

Dean reflexively turns his head in the direction of the commotion. A few tables over, near the center of the restaurant, a man is down on one knee, and - son of a bitch.

Dean watches, his mouth hanging open, as the woman shouts, “Yes, of course, yes!” Waiters walk past their table with a whole fucking bottle of champagne. People at nearby tables fucking clap.

Dean resolutely turns back around to face Cas, at a loss for words that aren’t extremely loud swears.

“Isn’t that nice?” Cas says mildly.

“Yeah, very nice for them,” Dean says through gritted teeth. 

Of all the goddamn nights. Of all the goddamn restaurants. What are the goddamn chances?

Dean slices into his steak with extreme prejudice. If he could murder the happy couple, he would. With zero regrets.

Fuck it all, Claire’s gonna be insufferable.

  A CHARMING B&B IN VERMONT

Dean wakes up delightfully cozy with Cas spooning him from behind. No memory foam, but the bed is delightfully springy anyway. It was definitely what they needed after a full school day and a nine-hour road trip. Luckily, the owner of the bed and breakfast, a charming older woman actually named Mrs. Butters, was happy to wait up for their late check-in last night. She even had hot cocoa waiting.

Dean had held out a slight hope they could christen their room before they turned in for the night, but Cas passed right out before Dean turned on the lights. Poor guy had to deal with three sets of angry parents, and it was only the second week of school. Something about how their supposed-genius kids should be in AP Latin instead of the Fun Latin class - aka the one for dumbass seniors.

The mid-morning sunlight filtering in from behind the plaid curtains casts everything in a warm glow. The room itself is beyond charming. There’s a legit fireplace next to the bed, and they’re currently nestled under a patchwork quilt. The wood panelled walls give a distinctly rustic feel to the place, despite the reasonably sized television screen mounted on the far wall.

Dean turns over in bed so he’s facing Cas instead of the door. He resists the urge to poke him awake, and instead prods with a gentle, “Cas.”

Cas grumbles wordlessly. Fucker doesn’t even open his eyes, although Dean can tell from how his breathing changes that he’s awake.

“Cas.”

Cas wrinkles his nose and shoves his face into the pillow. “What, Dean?”

Dean can barely make out the words, but he gets the gist from the million times Cas has done the exact same thing. “I smell bacon.”

Cas’s eyes slit open. “So?”

“Don’t you want bacon?”

Cas huffs, and Dean can tell the exact moment he resigns to waking up. “Then go get the bacon. Nobody’s stopping you, Meat Man.”

Dean wiggles in bed, jostling the whole mattress. “Come on, babe.”

“I was sleeping.” Cas raises his head to look squint out the window. “It has to be before ten am. Since when are you a morning person?”

Since today is the day Dean is going to propose.

Instead, Dean reminds him pointedly, “Bacon.”

“Ugh,” Cas groans as he sits up. “I expect at least a blow job after breakfast if we’re leaving bed this early.”

Dean slaps his ass and jumps out of bed before Cas can retaliate. “Up and at ‘em!”

“I hate you.”

“Love you too, Cas.”

* * *

Claire 11:02 Did you ask him yet? If he said no I’ve got chunky monkey waiting

Claire 11:31 That was a joke Uncle Cas will say yes Theres no way he wont

Claire 11:40 If you’re not answering because of sex don’t tell me

Dean sighs as his phone lights up with Claire’s latest text. In the bathroom, Cas hurls again. 

Dean 11:41 No proposal

The bubbles showing Claire’s typing start almost immediately.

Claire 11:41 Are you serious? He’s not goin to turn you down!!!

Dean 11:41 Food poisoning

Claire 11:42 HAHAHAHA

Dean scowls at his phone.

Dean 11:44 Not now, Claire.

Claire 11:44 Wait Seriously?

Dean 11:44 We think it was something he ate at breakfast

Claire 11:44 Oh fuck I’m sorry for laughing

Dean rereads her text. He hasn’t ever received a straight-up apology from Claire before. Unsure of how to respond, he sets down his phone and gently pushes open the bathroom door. “How’re you doing, babe?”

Cas, slumped over the toilet and looking like death warmed over, raises his head an inch. “It seems to be easing up.”

“Really?”

Cas vomits into the toilet again. He groans.

“Shit,” Dean mutters as he crouches next to Cas. He rubs his back with one hand. “Do you think you can get some water down?”

Cas nods, so Dean straightens and fills a glass next to the sink.

As Cas drinks, Dean runs a hand through Cas’s sweaty hair. His forehead has a sickly sheen to it, and the back of his neck feels hot.

“Dean -” Cas breaks off to cough the water right back up into the toilet. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, no,” Dean says quickly as he refills the glass. “Don’t be sorry. This isn’t your fault.”

“But you had all these plans,” Cas moans as he takes the water to try again.

“We’ll do ‘em some other time.” He wets a washcloth and wipes down Cas’s forehead.

“Before Thanksgiving,” Cas rasps, “we’ll come back. I don’t want to miss the leaves changing.”

“Of course,” Dean says soothingly. He moves the washcloth to the nape of Cas’s neck. “On the bright side, you’ve been puking for, like, an hour. There can’t be much left.”

Cas, the dramatic bastard, nearly brains himself on the toilet seat with the force of his next hurl.

  HOMEMADE DINNER

After the disastrous fancy restaurant and B&B, a homemade dinner has to be the way to go. They’ll be in their own goddamn house - that has to cut down on the number of things that can go wrong.

Dean spends a whole week deliberating on what to make. He could do his usual burgers and fries routine, Cas’s favorite, but it should be special.

He settles on beef wellington. Pie for beef!

It’s a bitch to make - both because puff pastry from scratch is no joke, and hiding his first experiments from Cas means inventing increasingly convoluted reasons to get him out of the house. And, sure, every Youtube chef and Great British Bake off contestant has said store-bought puff pastry is fine, but Dean doesn’t want fine, he needs perfect. 

Dean picks a day when Cas has Model UN afterschool. It’s in the middle of the week, but at least Cas is guaranteed out of the house until six at night.

By 5:58, Dean is ready. The Wellington is cooling on the counter; the red wine has been breathing (whatever the hell that does) for the better part of an hour; and he’s showered and made himself presentable.

His phone pings at six pm on the dot. 

Heart sinking with foreboding, Dean taps the screen.

Cas 6:00 I’m going to be late for dinner. There was an accident with chemistry club a few minutes ago. The building had to be evacuated.

Dean 6:00 Are you OK?

Dean takes a moment to hammer the heel of his hand against his forehead. One fucking break. That’s all he’s asking for. One goddamn evening to go right.

Cas 6:00 Yes, and the kids are too. They’re airing out the halls now, but we won’t be let in for another half hour.

Dean picks up the wine with the hand not holding his phone. 

Dean 6:01 What time do you think you’ll be home?

Cas 6:01 7:30 maybe? I’ll keep you updated.

Dean swigs back a gulp straight from the bottle before he can answer. Fuck this.

Dean 6:02 Great! I’ll order pizza when you’re on your way back

Cas 6:02 Meatlovers?

Dean 6:02 Unless you’d like something else

Cas 6:02 No thank you :)

Dean flips on a recorded Jeopardy! episode as he cleans up the kitchen and texts Charlie. He has a free dinner waiting for her if she can hightail it to his place in the next hour and never speak of it again.

  HOMEMADE DINNER #2

If Dean is anything, he’s stubborn. John Winchester raised no quitter. Try, try, and try again. And try a fourth time, when the first three go sideways.

Burgers, this time. They don’t need a days’ worth of prep. And they’ll go over well.

“Dig in,” Dean says as he sets the plate down in front of Cas.

“This looks delicious, Dean,” Cas says sincerely as he picks up his burger.

Dean waits, and he can see the moment Cas tastes the molten cheese stuffed in the middle of the patty. His eyes go wide with surprise.

“Like it?”

Cas nods vigorously and inhales the rest of his burger in record time.

“There’s enough for us to have thirds,” Dean says smugly. 

Cas smears ketchup all over patty number two, and beams at him. “These make me very happy.”

Dean laughs. “That’s the goal-”

Cas’s phone rings.

Dean falters.

Cas stares at him expectantly, waiting for Dean to continue.

“You should get that,” Dean says, his shoulders slumping as he sets his burger down. It’s probably a bad sign he was already half-expecting things to go south. “It’s probably important, or whoever it is would’ve texted.”

“We’re in the middle of dinner,” Cas protests even as he reaches in his pocket to pull his phone out. “It’s Claire,” he says, baffled, before he picks up. “Hello?”

Cas sets down his half-eaten burger. He listens, his brows slamming down forbiddingly as Claire’s voice gets louder and louder, but still not loud enough for Dean to make out actual words. Silently, Cas takes his napkin off his lap and pushes his half-empty beer in Dean’s direction. Finally Cas says, “Yes, of course, Claire.”

Dean frowns as Cas lifts his gaze up to meet his. “Jimmy and Amelia?” he mouths.

Cas shakes his head, speaking into his phone,  “Does Kaia need a pick up from the hospital?”

Dean goes cold. Kaia was actually one of his favorite students. While she was in his class, she won a Scholastic Gold Key and honorable mention for two of her horror novellas and always did the reading. But Dean and Cas haven’t seen her since she broke up with Claire the summer before college.

“Is she okay?” Dean asks quietly.

Cas’s mouth thins. He gives a short nod.

Dean sighs and picks up the plate uneaten burgers. He can probably reheat the patties. The fries won’t keep, though, so he leaves the plate in front of Cas. He shoves a few in his mouth and gets to his feet.

He’s halfway through cleaning the frying pan when Cas gets off the phone with Claire.

“Are you heading out?” Dean asks gruffly while he gives the iron a particularly hard scrub.

“Yes,” Cas rumbles as he wraps an arm around Dean’s waist. “I’m sorry to cut dinner short.”

“Hey, it’s Kaia. ’Course we gotta help.” Dean forces an understanding smile on his face. “I’ll make up the couch while you pick her up?”

Cas squeezes him gently before moving away. “Thank you.”

“You got time for the cliff notes on what happened? Why’d you get the call?”

Cas leans against the counter next to the sink. “Kaia was in a car accident. She’s a little banged up, but mostly fine. A few bruised ribs and a possible concussion.” He shakes his head, disbelieving. “You know Kaia was never especially close with her foster family, so Claire got the emergency call.”

“Huh.” Dean grabs a plate to clean. “It’s been two years since the split.”

Cas shrugs. “I’m not sure what their situation is. I know Claire was surprised. She’s already in her car, and she should be here by midnight. Hopefully she recognizes Kaia’s injuries,” he frowns, “and they won’t try any… any ‘hanky panky’ tonight.”

Dean laughs, and if it’s slightly higher than normal, Cas doesn’t seem to pick up on it. He grabs Cas and kisses him square on the mouth. “You are ridiculous. Nobody says hanky panky. What the hell is wrong with you?”

Cas scowls. “They have to be well past kissing at this point.”

Dean snorts a laugh. “Yeah, that ship has long sailed, dude.”

Cas throws his hands in the air. “We don’t have enough sleeping surfaces to separate them.”

Dean sets the dirty plate down to face Cas fully. “Do you really think they’ll get back together? Kaia broke Claire’s heart not too long ago.”

Cas throws him a look like he wonders where the hell Dean’s logical brain has flown to. “Are you asking if I think couples can get back together after a harrowing break up?”

“… no.”

Cas shakes his head ruefully. “You’re more like Claire than I ever was, and you took me back.”

“Huh,” Dean wipes his hands off on a dishtowel, “you might have something there.”

“You do call me the smart one,” Cas says as he pushes off the counter and heads to the doorway. “It has been known to happen.”

“Smartass,” Dean corrects loudly as Cas grabs his coat and keys.

“Semantics.” Cas doubles back to kiss Dean a proper goodbye, and it’s just as electric as it was when they were seventeen. Cas tastes like Dean’s cooking, and he’s been letting his stubble grow out, the short hairs rasping against Dean’s palm as he cups Cas’s cheek.

“I love you, Dean,” Cas says as he draws away.

Dean grins. “I know.”

Cas huffs an almost-laugh as he heads back towards the door. “Now who’s the smartass?”

  IN BED

Cas, the son of a bitch, falls asleep before Dean can wring out a second orgasm out of him. Such a godamn shame. Just goes to show, they really aren’t teenagers anymore. At least Dean got to use the new vibrator he bought for the occasion and the edible panties. 

Dean flops back in bed. Maybe he should put the proposals on pause. Clearly, marriage isn’t in the cards. He can be a bit dense when it comes to Cas and him, but there’s dense and there’s denial.

It’s been two and a half months. Five proposal attempts. They’re nearly halfway through October, and he’s no closer to getting a ring on Cas’s finger than he was in late August, sweating bullets in that stupid fancy restaurant.

He can’t keep planning and failing to propose to Cas every other week. One, he can’t handle the stress and constant brainstorming. And B, he’s way behind in writing college recommendations and grading his freshman’s essays on Animal Farm. 

Cas isn’t going anywhere. Dean isn’t going anywhere. So Dean can cool the proposals for now and start fresh in January.

  SCHOOL ASSEMBLY

“I hate these,” Dean mutters to Benny. He frowns across the top rows of the bleachers where the seniors are supposed to sit. There are a few notable faces missing, but nobody that belongs to Dean’s homeroom, so he couldn’t give less of a shit. Below them, sit most of the juniors, and pretty much all of the sophomores and freshmen.

“It’s thirty minutes, brother,” Benny says, patting his arm. “You’ll live.”

“Shows what you know,” Dean grumbles back as Jody strides to the middle of the gym, microphone in hand. He asks Benny, “Do you know what this one’s about? Bullying? Cliques? Hugs not drugs?”

Benny shakes his head.

Jody sighs loudly into the mike. Clearly, she wants to be here just as much as he does. “Thank you all for coming,” she starts like any of them had a real choice. “First things first, Halloween is in two days, and while costumes are allowed and encouraged, don’t be racist.” She grimaces. “God help me, I don’t know why I still have to say that. If you are unsure if your costume is racist, it probably is. Wear something else. Secondly…”

Dean tunes her out. Instead, he scans the bleachers again, this time looking for Cas. He should be with the other sophomore homeroom teachers, but there’s no sign of him. Dean frowns. He can’t remember the last time Cas played hooky. And never without Dean. Dick move, Cas.

Movement at the edge of the gym catches Dean’s eye, and he watches, puzzled, as two students roll out one of the old projectors. The overhead lights turn off.

Is Jody seriously going to make him sit through a slide show? They’re wasting a prefectly good Friday morning on a goddamn PowerPoint?

The projector flips on, and the first photo is… of Dean. 

What the fuck? His mouth drops open in horror. In the picture, he’s in his junior year of high school - he can tell from the hair - with a bunch of people he hasn’t seen in fifteen years. Plus Cas, who’s at the next table over in the cafeteria, head bowed over a book and slightly out of focus.

There’s a click, and text scrawls along the bottom of the screen, Destiel Met in Edlund High School Fifteen Years Ago! 

The projector flips to the next photo, this time showing Dean’s senior yearbook picture.

More than a handful of students peer excitedly in his direction, undoubtedly hoping for a reaction.

Scowling, Dean cranes his neck to search the crowd for Charlie’s flaming red hair. She’s the only one who refers to the two of them as “Destiel”. Everyone else uses their names like sane people.

But the projector clicks to a photo of Cas, and Dean can’t help getting distracted. In the picture, Cas is alone at a table in the library. God, he was cute back then. His cheeks were a little fuller, and his hair was curlier. He still had the same intense blue-eyed stare, though. Patented Cas.

It all started with a tutoring session. Young Mr. W needed help in Latin, and our future Latin teacher, Mr. N, was up to the task!

Dean is going to kill Charlie. He tries to get to his feet - maybe she’s hiding behind Jo or something. But Benny’s hand grips his upper arm, holding him in place. “Don’t,” Benny says softly.

“What?” Dean demands as he tries to shake Benny off and fails. “Do you know what the hell is going on?”

“Stay.” The corners of Benny’s mouth twitch like he’s fighting a smile. “Watch.”

Dean huffs a breath and turns back around. If it was anyone else, Jo or Charlie, he wouldn’t trust a word out of their mouths. Benny, though, he’s not the type to make Dean sit through this without a good reason.

But that’s all ancient history. Destiel really got started five years ago, in this very gym.

The projector shows a picture of their class reunion, when Dean met Cas after ten years of no contact. They’re standing pretty close together (but that doesn’t mean much with Castiel What-Is-Personal-Space Novak), and they appear deep in conversation.

Since then, they have been inseparable.

Dean and Cas at a softball game. Dean and Cas at homecoming. Dean and Cas at GSA’s pride party.

Here’s to fifteen more years of Destiel!

The students clap and cheer with more than a few laughs.

Musical Interlude! flashes in front of a picture of Dean playing guitar to a group of pajama-clad students at last year’s Senior Lock-In.

The lights flip back on, and Dean blinks as his eyes adjust. By the time the spots have cleared from his vision, the projector has been wheeled away, leaving the main floor of the gym empty.

A staticky crackle echoes around the gym. And - is that Def Leppard playing on the speakers?

As the intro to Rock of Ages plays, the cheerleading team troops out from the locker rooms. 

They start a routine Dean’s never seen before. To Rock of fucking Ages.

The cheerleaders sings along with Joe Elliot, “What do you want?”

Dean’s mouth falls open as the entire high school chants back, “I want rock and roll. Long live rock and roll!”

By the time they get to the “Rock of Ages” chant, all the students are on their feet, clapping along with the beat and cheering.

The song dies down soon after, and Dean, a broad smile on his face, turns to Benny. “I don’t know what the hell is going on, but I dig it.”

Benny laughs. “Good. He’ll be pleased.”

Dean’s just about to ask who he is (he’s 99% he knows), when Cas walks out from behind the bleachers. 

Cas takes the microphone from Jody. He coughs nervously, waiting for the students to settle back down. “Thank you,” he says to the cheerleading team. “That was... awesome.” He glances up at the assembled students and teachers. “Dean-” he pauses as the cheers and clapping start up in earnest “-can you please come down here?”

But Dean’s frozen to the spot.

Benny gives him a not-so-light jab with his elbow. “Go on.”

Dean shakily gets to his feet and makes his way to the gym floor, and he swears his legs are about to give out from under him.

“Alright, you got my attention,” Dean says with forced bravado. “What’s up, Cas?”

The students hoot and holler.

Cas reddens as they die down again. Clutching the microphone in a death grip, he says, “Dean, we have been together for a number of years.”

Dean grins, a wonderful, all-consuming giddiness filling him the longer he stands in front of Cas. “I know, dude. I was there.”

The students laugh and someone, probably Jo, wolf whistles.

Cas swallows. “I wanted to do this here, where we first met, where you first asked me out on a date, where we had our first kiss.”

“Don’t tell ‘em about all our firsts on school property,” Dean says in a stage-whisper, “or Jody’s gonna have an aneurysm.”

Over a fresh round of student laughter, Jody puts her head in her hands. Donna, the school guidance counselor, pats her a few times on the back.

“Dean Winchester,” Cas says, and, shit, his hands are shaking. “I have loved you for more than half my life, and I look forward to far more than fifteen years by your side. Will you marry me?’

Dean’s not stupid. He had a strong hunch, ever since Rock of Ages played - aka the cassette he put in the Impala the first time he took Cas for a drive fifteen years and a lifetime ago - that this was what Cas was leading up to. 

He’s mostly surprised Cas had the guts to pop the question this way. There was a reason Dean tried to keep his proposal plans mostly to the two of them. One of them is practically a social hermit, and it’s sure as shit not Dean.

“Just say yes, jerk!”

Dean spins around, nearly tripping over his own feet in surprise. Fuck, that’s Sam. His giant of a brother is hovering right outside the gym’s double doors, beaming at the pair of them. Claire gives a little wave from where she’s half-hiding behind him.

Dean turns back to Cas. He can’t think about Sam right now. Or Claire. Or the five hundred students with their eyes on them. 

Only Cas.

“Cas,” he says, and it feels like the whole room is holding their collective breath, none more so than Cas, who looks like he’s about to pass out. “Man, I’ve loved you since I was seventeen. Of course I’ll marry you.”

Cas lets out a shaky exhale of relief, and Dean laughs. He takes the microphone from Cas’s now slack grip, steps all the way into Cas’s personal space, and kisses him.

The cheers from the assembled students are nearly deafening.

[twilightsunclan-fr]

A Cold Winter’s Morning

Ivory woke from a dead sleep to Bean’s tiny, yet suspiciously heavy body, hitting his face.

“Ow.” He muttered, easily trapping the eternal hatchling under a paw before she could make a break for the entrance tunnel, and freedom. Bean screeched her outrage at being thwarted from leaving the den. “Yeah, I know.” Ivory mumbled, blinking the sleep from his eyes, if Bean was up then Ivory was too. “I’m a horrible parent for stopping you from freezing to death.”

At his side, Ophrys slept on, not even stirring from Bean’s audio assault. Ivory didn’t expect him to. During the winter into the first few days of spring, Ivory was essentially a single parent.

Ophrys’ link to all things green and growing went a little further then his springtime escapades. In the late fall he started slowing down, sleeping later, going to bed earlier. And eating every chance he got. By the time the first snow fell, he was already fast asleep. Curled up in their large collection of blankets and furs, deep in the central room of the den. If Ivory was lucky, he might be able to rouse Rhys enough to shove some extra food or water down his throat about once a week or so. For the most part though, Rhys was dead to the world until spring.

Which left Ivory to take care of things around the den and their tiny charge until Ophrys was back on his feet.

“Alright, alright.” Ivory heaved himself to his feet, untangling his wings and tail from the blanket mass. “Let’s go.” Bean subsided into baleful muttering, but on the whole seemed pleased with Ivory’s choice to carry her up the tunnel mouth. Ivory squinted against the blinding glare of the sun off the snow, he nosed the double layer of heavy oil cloth and insulation drape back from the cave mouth.

“Ugh.” He groaned, tugging his mantel a bit tight around his shoulders and neck. It was quite chilly out, Bean whimpered and ducked closer into his hold. “Oh sure.” Ivory mumbled. “Now you’re having second thoughts.” He tucked her into a warm fold of his mantel, settling her in like it was a sling and set off across the sleeping garden. It hadn’t snowed last night, making his progress easier. He followed his footsteps from the previous days, out of their den area and along the forest path into the clan territory proper.

In the main market area of the clan, snow had been cleared away and it was nice not to have to squelch his way through wet, cold, snow. Several dragons he knew called hello, and Ivory greeted them back. Not staying long to share more then a few words. He had a mission after all. One that only heightened when he caught sight of Regnum’s hunting party carrying the spoils of their latest hunting trip in.

“Good Morninghellohi big cousin!” He recognized Ophrys’ apprentice AllMartyr under the carcass of a griffin. He dipped his head in greeting. “Goodbest week for hunttrip! See you at tent!” She waddled off after her elder brother and sister, walking awkwardly on her back legs, her front claws full of bundles of fish tied together, while the griffin was draped over her back, secured with several lengths of rope.

Ivory followed sedately behind her, taking time to enjoy the subdued hustle and bustle of the clan around him. The market place was always busy as a way stop, though quieter in the winter when travel slowed. It was still far more populated then Ophrys’ relatively isolated garden lair.Traders were waiting out the season before moving on, buying supplies and goods to take to the road as soon as spring came. Performers working on new shows for the Trickmurk Circus at the end of the winter season. Crafters taking the downtime of low to no traveling to build their stock back up for the spring festivals. Ivory enjoyed the sounds and movement of dragons going about their business around him.

It was a short walk to his destination. Which sat square in the center of the marketplace. While Regnum and her siblings went around to the back to make their deliveries, Ivory pushed his way in through the front tent flap.

“Oh look who’s wide awake and ready for action.” Iubar’s warm sarcastic voice greeted Ivory with the warmth of the cooking tent. During the warm months the pavilion was open to the elements, small magics keeping the rain and wind at bay. But during the heavy winters, the pavilion was enclosed in a tent, enspelled with anti fire enchantments and charms to keep the warmth from the cooking fires in and the cold of the season out.

“Yeah, yeah.” Ivory endured his friend’s teasing. Finding his usual table near Iubar’s cooking station, the right size for an imperial, empty. He deposited Bean on the table top. “Got anything warm and filling for the baby sprout here?”

“Of course.” Iubar set down a shallow bowl delicately in front of Bean. While adorably tiny for an imperial to handle, it was still twice the size of Bean herself. And filled with a faintly steaming serving of oatmeal. Ivory caught Bean by her furiously wagging tail, just barely stopping her from diving headfirst into the meal. Snickering Iubar sprinkled a finishing touch of cinnamon and maple sugar on the oatmeal.

“What do we say?” Ivory prompted Bean. Bean didn’t even look up from the bowl of her dreams, yet still managed to squeak out something that sounded vaguely thankful. “Good enough.” Ivory let go and Bean, quite literally, flew into the oatmeal. Iubar laughed out loud at Bean’s enthusiastic attack on his food.

“It’s always good to see my work appreciated.” He commented mildly. “What can I get for you?”

“The usual.” Ivory said, placing a stack of treasure on the tabletop. Far away from Bean’s shenanigans.

“Coming right up.” Iubar turned away, the sizzle and smell of meat making Ivory’s stomach growl. Ivory distracted himself from Iubar’s knowing smirk by checking out the clientele in the tent. Even though it was long after the breakfast rush, there were still some dragons lingering over their breakfasts, warm drinks or starting an early lunch. He could spy Dai, the brightly colored skydancer, holding what looked like a very animated discussion with his assistant, Chanticleer, and the alchemist, Disco over steaming plates of eggs and waffles. Ivory mentally made note to check out Dai’s Trickmurk show, it was bound to have some interesting pyrotechnics. (Rhys would love to hear him describe it when he woke up.)

At another table Preafloro and Cerintha were sipping tea from mugs, listening to PicassoMoon describe his latest jewel spell project. The small coatl was puffed up with excitement and Ivory had to tell himself it would be terribly rude to interrupt their conversation to pet him. He clenched a fist under the table.

Finally at a far more isolated corner of the tent, co-clan leader Obadiah was pouring over a thick stack of notes. A bowl of oatmeal forgotten at his elbow.

“You seen Caelum lately?” Ivory asked Iubar, as his friend set an imperial sized plate of scrambled roc eggs and big horn steak in front of him. “How’s he holding up?” Caelum was possibly worse then Ophrys at handling the winter. Which was hilariously ironic considering Tundra’s were made for the snow and ice. Iubar shrugged, a simple lift of his shoulders and wings.

“Stella’s been by a lot more lately, but not more then usual for this time of year.” He named the clan’s medic and Caelum’s best friend/possible life partner. No one could tell and/or had the guts ask either. “So I guess Caelum’s doing as well as he normally does.” On the table Bean made a mess of both herself and the bowl of oatmeal. Getting as much if not more smeared around her face and paws then in her mouth.

Ivory chewed his steak thoughtfully. He liked foods that required some chewing.

“How’s your mate?” Iubar poured him a large mug of coffee. “He still a sleeping beauty?” Ivory nodded, washing down his steak with gulps of coffee, which Iubar quickly topped off.

“It’s so quiet out there. You’d think the whole wide world was asleep and not just that one little piece of it.” Bean crowed with delight on finding a dried berry hidden in the oatmeal, attacking it with gusto. Ivory smiled faintly down at her. “Decided we needed a bit of a change today.” Iubar nodded, propping his elbows up on his counter.

“Gonna walk around the market then? I hear there’s a new weaver in this morning. Might have their wares set out.” Ivory forked up some of the roc egg while he thought.

“No reason not to. I could probably convince Dai to get Ezili to carve Bean something to chew on too, while he’s here.”

“Haven’t seen Val around lately either.”

“He’s holed up at his clan. It’s not as easy to travel for just a night, ya know. And they need him there. He’s coming by this weekend though.” Iubar nodded, sipping at a glass of water. “How about you? Saw Reg and her crew bringing a delivery by.” Iubar grinned.

“Damn right they did. Can always count on those kids to bring me the good stuff. Nerio brought them up right.” He turned back to his prep work. “Gonna start a stew tonight. And we’ll have a fresh fish fry tomorrow while it cooks. Martyr’s a more then decent fisher when she has the patience to sit for it.” Ivory hummed, taking slow mouthfuls of his coffee now.

“Tell me about it. She’s got too much energy on the whole. Rhys is always having to send her off to dig a new plot before he can get her to weed or water.” Iubar and he shared a laugh. They moved onto other topics, Ivory’s plans for the spring (“I’ll be uh...spending it with Rhys.”), Iubar’s plans to expand (“We’re getting more traders every spring and summer, to say nothing of the fall.”), the latest debate (“Glad I wasn’t the mediator on that one.” “Heard Nike had to rule on it, you know how she hates that.”), and other small gossip (“Word in the market’s that Disco and Miranda might finally tell us if he’s her charge.” “No!”)

The late morning turned to early afternoon and Bean sat back on her haunches with a satisfied burp. Iubar handed Ivory a damp cloth to clean her with.

“I’ll see you in a few days then. Bring Val by for brunch.” Ivory mock saluted, settling Bean back into place in the folds of his mantel. She’d be conked out in no time for an afternoon nap while he walked around the marketplace.

“Will do. Thanks for the grub.”

“Anytime.”

[smolpocketsmonsters]

Heart Balm

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Now with a chapter title

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               You look awful.

               The words bounced around inside Aether’s mind, lethargic but needling. Ugly but correct. They lapped at him like waves on the Waking Sea. Like the bathtub water, gently jostled with the slightest movement from the man behind him, fingertips light and calm and soothing as they tenderly spreading the sweet smelling balm over his hair and skin.

               Vergil cared a lot about appearances, usually about his own, but this time, Vergil was fussing about Aether, far beyond that of his usual teasings that he would prod the healer with, especially over his tendency to pout. You’ll get wrinkles, he would say. This time, Vergil was fussing for real.

               You look awful.

               And he knew it.

               He knew that his poor appetite and lack of proper sleep the last six, almost seven months had washed him raw of the healthy tones that had once resided in his sun kissed skin, in his fair hair, and even his elfroot green eyes that were now lackluster and dull. And his body… How he wished he had been able to control that better. That whenever his cheeks were even slightly more sunken than usual, his cheekbones were more noticeable. And it wasn’t just his face that had been visually affected by his lack of health. He knew it from the way that his collarbone looked sharper, and the bones of his hips.

               He wondered if Vergil could see the knobs of his spine as sharply as they felt to his own hand.

               Aether did know that he could still come across as healthy to strangers, a little thin but not in a way that expressed physical sickness instead of mental, but to people who were familiar with him, people who knew him, they could see the difference.

               Vergil could see the difference.

               But what shame Aether felt from allowing himself to get this bad went silent as Vergil tended to him, gently and quietly pampering him in ways he had almost forgotten. It had been so long.

               The warm water was as soothing as the actions, as soothing as the presence of the other mage who later made him tiredly smile, and even laugh a little bit, as the Warden Commander would tell the healer all of what he had missed from Vigil’s Keep, of how his fellow Wardens were. It was good to hear everyone was doing well.

               Vergil must have noticed his exhaustion, or maybe he assumed such by the way he barely touched his food from lack of general appetite, because he gently inquired if he wanted to lay down. And the answer Aether gave him was replied in turn with a fond smile that made the worry in his heart ease up.

               All because of a confession of I miss you.

               A confession that was answered with I’m here.

               And Aether went to sleep that night with his heart feeling lighter than it had in months.

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               It took mere hours for Aether to wake again and drowsy eyes sleepily stared at the little bit of pale skin he could see peeking out from the shoulder of a black tunic-shirt, and beyond that, the ceiling of the rich bedroom that was his own, bathed in moonlight that poured in from the large balcony windows that sat closed to keep the chilly night air at bay.

               It was so strange to wake up not in his hammock, tucked away in the dark little closet that used to also be dedicated to keeping his private stash of wine. To sleep in his actual bed was more proof to the exhausted healer that the afternoon before had not just been an awful and wonderful dream, that the sweet smells of perfumed balms had been more than just his missing Vergil coming to a head.

               It was real.

               This was real.

               And a tired smile curled on his lips and he breathed deeply, sedating himself a little with the soft scent of Vergil’s favored bath oils in his nose.

               And although it put him at ease, it did not help him fall asleep.

               He and Vergil had gone to bed too early and Aether had missed his nightly ration of sleeping draught.

               That or Vergil told the apothecary to not bother them.

               Aether wasn’t entirely sure.

               But as he tried to doze off, he thought about how they all began.

               Strange to think it was coming up on thirteen years since the day Aether had found himself trapped up a tree by werewolves only to be rescued by a party of people who, at the time being, he had no idea consisted of three Grey Wardens, one who became King of Ferelden, the second who eventually was the husband of the Empress’s Arcane Advisor and Liaison to the Inquisition, and the third who wore the title Hero of Ferelden and Warden Commander publically.

               Vergil was such an awful flirt back then too.

               If not for the Dalish Warden insisting on lingering a little longer once Zathrian’s clan was safe, that was all Vergil would have been to Aether. But things happened just the way they had and that forest was where the two of them truly began what would transform into what they were today.

               A sharp and sudden ache in his left hand dragged his attention away from his peaceful musings and he winced from the Anchor’s flare.

               It had been doing that more often since encountering Telana’s barrier during the excavation of the Frostback Basin. More often but the flares were no more painful than they had been since the first time the mark grew more powerful, back after Corypheus’s attack on Haven.

               At this point it was just a mild annoyance.

               A heavy sigh hefted in Aether’s chest and he curled his fingers, nuzzling his face against Vergil’s skin.

               He had to try to get some sleep.

               But what sleep came was poor and he woke frequently and morning came all too soon with the sound of Aether’s personal rooster closing the door behind her and coming up the stairs, the scent of breakfast wafting into the room and Aether couldn’t help immediately feeling sick to his stomach.

               Aether listened as her steps hit the landing and then paused, perhaps hesitating under the view of the two sleeping in the bed, and then there was the sound of a heavy tray being put down, one, two steps and then…

               “Not a step closer.”

               He didn’t even realize that Vergil was awake, hadn’t noticed the change in his breathing, hadn’t noticed the change in his heart beating against his ear.

               “That’ll be all. Dismissed,” Vergil’s low voice added, scratchy from sleep.

               There was hesitation, and then the familiar chirpy voice of the servant reached his ears.

               “Excluding meals, Ambassador Montilyet has cleared the Inquisitor’s schedule for the day.”

               Aether quietly thought a blessing to the esteemed ambassador as he listened to her quieter retreat and then heard the door close. Once it was, he sighed and felt his entire body relax, and Aether allowed himself to doze back off until this time it was Vergil who disturbed him by moving, by uncoiling his arms from around the Inquisitor and pulling away.

               Aether felt anxiety creep into his chest when he felt the man get out of bed, but that was eased when he felt the bed sink once more and he felt Vergil’s fingers lightly stroke over his hair briefly as the Warden settled himself back down, not to sleep more, but to eat in bed. With that peace of mind, Aether quietly stretched out, feeling long and gangly if only for a moment before he curled back up onto himself, unwilling to open his eyes, to be aware of anything more than what he heard and felt, and just wished himself to go back to sleep.

               He probably was for a few minutes, he doubted it was an hour, before he felt the gentle rousing touch of Vergil at his shoulder.

               “You should eat something,” Vergil quietly said.

               “’m not hungry,” Aether murmured in sleepy protest.

               “I know, but you still should,” he reasoned, “even if it’s just a little.”

               He didn’t want to eat, but a little was not unreasonable and it was Vergil who was asking.

               Lethargically, Aether sat up and rubbed his puffy eyes, suddenly and desperately craving his salt rock that was clear on the other side of the room, hiding somewhere on the mess that was his desk that needed to be organized, badly.

               The servant who normally woke him wasn’t allowed to touch anything on the desk.

               But for the first time since the intervention, Aether’s morning was quiet as Vergil gently encouraged the Inquisitor to drink some water and nibble on some fruit, allowing his mind to slowly wake up by itself while the body ran on autopilot. It felt both peaceful and awkward, just the two of them eating in his bed, reminding him of the odd times off and on before the fight where the same would happen, although back then it had been without Vergil’s urging and without Aether’s silence.

               Eventually though, their day sluggishly came to a start and fond old habits began to settle again as Aether mildly demanded for the bandages and salve for Vergil’s scarred arm.

               “I can use my teeth like always, but if you insist.”

               “I do insist,” Aether stated with a proud huff before his voice took on a scolding tone as he added, “and I will be taking a look at your leg too.”

               And Vergil let him.

               Aether observed closely as he carefully tended to the scar, watched the way the muscles beneath would tense and listened for every occasional hiss. It still amazed Aether how sensitive the area was no matter how careful he was. But eventually the old wound was wrapped and the healer moved on to Vergil’s leg, drawing it across his lap so he could lend it proper attention.

               “How did this happen?” the healer asked as he began, his hands warm with magic as they carefully massaged balm into Vergil’s sensitive and swollen ankle, his ears pricking slightly from a muffled sound that Vergil made. “Does that hurt?”

               “It doesn’t hurt,” Vergil started, adding “much,” like an afterthought. “I don’t think I was ready for your magic. Forgot how it feels.”

               A fond smile softly betrayed his own lips, warmth seeping into his chest as well as a small spark of sadness.

               He didn’t want Vergil to ever forget.

               Swallowing the nerves that had started to stick in his throat, Aether continued, ignoring his own thoughts in favor of healing, listening for any sounds of discomfort in response to his actions. Even when he had finished with the ankle and moved on to the strained muscle in Vergil’s thigh, his hands warm and soothing and careful and comforting as they carefully worked away all pain and discomfort until the irritation in the matter was gone.

               It felt like an accomplishment, however small.

               That sort of feeling was far and few between.

               But just like Ameridan told him, Aether took the moments of happiness where he found them.

               Because the world would without a doubt take the rest.

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               The nobles left a day early, not because of the Inquisition, but rather because of Vergil, and Aether didn’t know what to do with his emotions on the matter.

               On one hand, he felt glad that they were leaving, and apparently had only good things to say about the Inquisition, but on the other hand, he felt bad because they were leaving out of anger directed towards Vergil, who could not be entirely blamed for his automatic response to their yappy little shit of a dog slamming into his ankles, after all, when one had spent as long as Vergil had regularly getting attacked by darkspawn that would spring up from underfoot, it was somewhat expected for a defensive attack to be used.

               Unfortunately that meant that the nobles would likely spread awful gossip about Vergil and potentially the Grey Wardens as a whole.

               The entire matter gave Aether a headache as he reluctantly sat down to the scheduled evening meal.

               And when the plate was put down in front of him, the Inquisitor felt surprise spark in his stomach and Vergil spoke up.

               “I made a suggestion to the cook about portions,” he explained, noting that his portion at lunch seemed to be too much for him, and quietly, Aether stared at the portion.

               It was smaller.

               It felt a little easier to manage.

               And Aether smiled a little for the ease.

               “Food has been difficult for me the last few months,” Aether admitted to Vergil as he quietly began to eat. “My appetite just isn’t really there anymore.”

               “You need fuel for this wonderful mind of yours,” Vergil said, his voice with humor, “So we’ll get to it. Even cheat the brain out of its stubbornness.”

               And the healer smiled.

               “How would you suggest to trick it?”

               And Vergil did have suggestions, of smaller portions and light snacks in between meals and plenty of water. Vergil even suggested the idea of using a potion to promote appetite, one that he himself used to help prevent when the Taint might take him by surprise and make him feel like he was starving to the point of gorging himself until sick, which did no one any good.

               They were all good ideas, and Aether approved of them all as a healer, even if he himself was the patient.

               It was better than forcing him to eat so much food all in one sitting and make him feel sick and spiteful until the next meal.

               Vergil’s council on the matter was appreciated.

               And, quietly, the Inquisitor could feel things start to change, if only for the better.

               For him to get better.

[madamlaydebug]

Helpful information about herbal teas for relief of anxiety and stress: Herbs that help relieve stress and anxious feelings are called nervines because they nourish and strengthen the nervous system. Some act directly to restore tissue. Others have a more general effect. They help you relax or oxygenate your blood, which directly aids your nervous system. Calming herbs and relaxing teas have noticeable effects on in-the-moment distress and anxious feelings. They do not help your body adapt to long-term effects like tonic or adaptogenic herbs. Some adaptogens work quickly, but most work over time for cumulative benefits. They may be taken daily for months at a time as tonics. Nervine herbs are generally taken as needed up to a few times a day for relieving stressful feelings. Many nervines and adaptogenic herbs also have additional health benefits. They contain vitamins, minerals, antioxidants or properties that affect more than the nervous system. Herbs act in different ways based on the compounds they contain and your constitution. Hot herbs may not be best if you are already worked up or tend to get heated. Cooling herbs may be what you need. Likewise, if stress gets you feeling down or you feel cold, warming herbs are best. Match your symptoms to an herb's actions for best results. Here are a few to enjoy: Lemon Balm Melissa: Melissa is a cooling herb. If you (or someone you know) are angry or raging, let Melissa help you cool off. Melissa soothes an acid stomach and is used to ward off oral herpes. It lifts your mood and relaxes the nervous system. Lemon balm has a lovely taste and fragrance. If you are lucky enough to have this herb growing nearby, let it's light lemony scent brighten your day. Crush a fresh leaf in your hands and inhale deeply. Its pure volatile essential oil molecules will waft into your nose and work their magic. A tablespoon of dried lemon balm leaves make a delicious cup of relaxing tea. Combined with chamomile, this calming herb is good for 'tantrum-throwers'. With motherwort it can be helpful for stress induced palpitations. Fresh Oat Avena: Avena is a good choice if you are stressed or stretched to the limit and feel emotionally frayed. It is also good for people who fly off the handle and need emotional grounding. Oat tops help symptoms of stress such as mental fog, muscle pain and high blood pressure caused by tension. It soothes the gastro-intestinal tract. Fresh oats are helpful for controlling cravings and withdrawal symptoms. Oats takes the edge off caffeine, nicotine and morphine cravings. It has a mild anti-anxiety effect. This slow-acting calming herb builds benefits over several months. It is not directly relaxing to the body, but works by helping to restore and support healthy nerve function with regular use. Fresh oats can be combined with stronger herbs as needed. The tincture or extract must be made from fresh white milky tops. Do not use Avena sativa if you have celiac disease. Hops - Humulus Lupulus: Hops is a potent sedative and relaxant nervine that has been used to aid sleep and reduce libido even longer than it has been used to make beer. Nursing mothers who have trouble relaxing and "letting down" milk may find this herb helpful. If you have trouble relaxing for sleep, a dream pillow filled with hops, lavender and other soothing herbs may help you drift off. Hops is quite bitter, so you may not want to drink it as a tea, but you may not mind the tincture in warm water. Chamomile: Chamomile has long been a beloved medicinal herb of the Egyptians, Greeks, and Romans. Today, it is a favorite the world over as a mild sedative and deep sleep aid. Use chamomile alone or combined with Hops when you feel like you have a nervous stomach. This calming herbal remedy works by easing smooth muscle spasms in the stomach and intestines. It is also reduces inflammation and wards off bacteria, viruses and parasites. Always cover your chamomile tea while brewing to keep the volatile essential oils from leaving with the steam. Or, if you prefer, breathe in the steam deeply for an aromatherapy treatment. If you are allergic to ragweed or are pregnant, it is best to avoid chamomile. Kava: Kava has a long history of use as sacred plant in the Pacific Islands where it is enjoyed as a strong drink for its medicinal and social benefits. When it comes to herbal anxiety relief, kava meets the challenge. It helps people feel at ease in social situations without compromising mental clarity. Kava relieves pain and stiffness associated with body armoring with anxious feelings. It acts in the brain's amygdala where the stress response is initiated. It helps cool hot flashes, eases joint pain, muscle tension and menstrual cramps. Scullcap: Scullcap is a helpful calming herb for nervous exhaustion and strengthening a depleted nervous system. This calming herb is a good choice if you are experiencing spasms. It helps relax a nervous stomach, controls tremors, restless legs and relieves diaphragm spasms. If you clench or grind your teeth, scullcap may help. It has a mild anti-anxiety action. It is also an anti-inflammatory herb. It shows promise for controlling Parkinson's symptoms over time. Only fresh or freeze-dried scullcap is useful. Be sure to purchase your scullcap from a reputable source because it may be mixed with other herbs. Other species may be substituted, which may or may not provide the same benefits. If you suffer from stress related insomnia, a tincture or tea of equal parts scullcap, hops and valerian or chamomile makes for a a mildly sedating nightcap.