#i just want eden to be vicious without responsibilities

[edensbite]

having a more fantasy-based au for eden would fix me i think

[bread-writes]

Hi! Thank you for writing the lookism content I needddd. I was wondering if you could do s/o flinching during an argument with Johan, Gun, and Goo? I enjoyed the last one :)

I’m so glad you enjoyed the last one! I hope I did this one justice too.

Headcanons under the cut!

→ part 1

Johan, Gun, and Goo Reacting to their S/o Flinching During an Argument

Johan Seong

Johan can be very childish

selfish, even

after all, before you, he’s only ever had Eden and Miro

these kinds of arguments are a little common in the beginning of the relationship

but he tends to mellow out when he finally decided to trust you and open up

arguments with Johan can be about anything, really

that doesn’t mean he’s not trying to loosen up

he just can’t help it

he tends to snap at you without any ill intent

and usually, you’re okay with it

you understand that he’s not used to relying on anyone other than himself

however, you can only handle something like this for so long

on one particularly rough day for you, you just can’t handle his terrible attitude

he’ll probably hit a sore spot or touch on your insecurities when you confront him about his behavior

he’s initially shocked when you blow up at him

it’s all down hill from there

vicious words are spat without a second thought, neither of you willing to back down

his eyes are screwed shut as he begins to lose his already thinning patience

the fist clenched at his side begins to raise

only then do you come to your senses, flinching at the sight of Johan’s whitened knuckles

when he hears no response from you he slowly opens his eyes, mortified when he noticed the slight tremble in your stance

his fist falls limply at his side

apologies form at the tip of his tongue, but for some reason, he just can’t say anything

why does he always push people away?

he’s only pulled out of his thoughts when your hand gently brushes the lone tear that streamed down his cheek

out of desperation, he’ll grab your wrist and trap you in a hug 

‘I’m sorry’s and ‘I’ll do better, I swear’ are mumbled into your shoulder

“Just please don’t leave me...”

Gun Jong

as I’ve stated in my relationship headcanons, arguments like these with Gun are few and far between so major ones usually happen at the beginning of the relationship or something horrible comes up

he just doesn’t see the point in meaningless conflict

unless it’s a fight, of course

much like Johan, he’s not exactly an expert when it comes to communicating

sure, he can read you like an open book and can tell when he can and can’t push boundaries

but when the topic comes around to him, you tend to draw a blank

(of course, he does get better with time)

he’s secretive; keeping his work separate from his personal life

as odd as it may seem, while he’s not the best at communicating his feelings (or anything about himself, in all honesty), he’s the master at shifting conversations into his favor

this has led to far more conversations about you then about him

at first you don’t notice

but when your friends brag and complain about their partners likes and dislikes, you begin to grow insecure

what did you know about Gun?

you fall so deep in your thoughts, trying to find something that you know about him

his favorite color?

you don’t know

his favorite food?

your mind comes up blank

maybe approaching him right after he got home from work wasn’t the best...

when you asked him about it, he only brushed past you and around the corner

you decided to try again at dinner

this time, his lips pulled into a small scowl

“Why the hell do you want to know about me so bad?”

you snapped yelling at him, your hand slamming painfully onto the table

throughout the argument, he remained calm

the only sign of his distress being the slight narrow in his eyes.

your throat dries up when he lights a cigarette, glaring at you through his lashes before turning back to his food

you’ve seen that glare before

it was a glare reserved for people he found annoying or was about to beat the shit out of

“God, you’re so annoying... Can’t you just shut up?

you flinched back, a cold shiver running down your spine and the hairs at the back of your neck starting to stand

he tilted his head back up at you after a few moments

he reaches out to you, his eyes widening once you flinch away from him

he blinks dumbly for a few moments raking his head through the memories and conversations he’s had with you

you sat up from your seat, mumbling your apologies while desperately trying to get away from him

he’ll give you space for a few days before deciding to approach you again

while he won’t open up immediately, he will over time, now dropping little facts about himself every now and then

Joon Goo Kim

god, why did you choose to date a literal psychopath

unlike the other two, Goo is very open with his emotions

too an extent, of course

he’s competitive, eccentric

and worst of all, very confrontational

he doesn’t give a damn if you or anyone else challenged him to a fight; a fight is a fight, and he’s in for the thrill

fucking sadist

he could care less about the consequences of his actions, sometimes coming home with a twisted arm or broken rib

all of which he would laugh off before counting the money he managed to smuggle off whoever was unfortunate to cross him

as his partner, you’ve grown used to seeing his battered face entering your home with a bag of money hung over his shoulder

but that doesn’t mean you don’t grow worried for him

of course, this type of behavior has sparked more than a few arguments between the to of you

though none could hold a candle to the one-sided screaming fest currently going on between the two of you

“All I’m asking is for you to be careful!”

he rolled his eyes behind his glasses, letting out an exaggerated yawn as he rolled his shoulder

“Thanks, but I never asked for you to care.”

“Yeah--Well what if you die--?!”

a hand slammed next to your head, nearly shattering the wall

“Are you fucking underestimating me?”

you shook under his now blank gaze, flinching as his hand moved from its position beside your head

the hand caressed your cheek gently whilst Goo sighed from above you

he’s not as soft as the other two, but he is sorry for scaring you

also unlike Johan, he won’t ask for forgiveness right away

he’ll shower you in so many gifts and so much affection that you eventually relent and forgive him

he won’t make any promises about his habits but he will try to keep them under control mostly

haha not proud of this one at all. I literally cannot write Goo--and for what?? Gun’s is so longggg lmao 

[qqueenofhades]

Having just sent you a message the other day about how much I love your historical asks, I realized I have a question myself that you might know the answer to. I’m a Christian and I have never been able to figure out why Christianity has historically viewed non-procreative sex for pleasure as bad. (And none of my family, including my clergy father, have figured it out either. I think my dad has a bone to pick with Augustine? And I feel like Aquinas also has something to do with this.) But given that Jesus had a body and gives a speech about “the Son of Man came eating and drinking” as though he enjoyed it, how did this whole “the body is sinful especially the sex part” thing happen? I have been thinking about this a lot recently for Old Guard reasons, which should surprise no one.

Oof. So, a short and simple question, then. (Sidenote: did they expand ask limits? Because I’ve definitely gotten a couple asks today, including this one, that are longer than usual, rather than forced to space out and hope that Tumblr doesn’t eat them.)

The entire history of sexuality in the West and its relationship with Christianity throughout the centuries is obviously a topic that far, far exceeds anything I could possibly cram into this ask, but let’s see if I can hit on some of the highlights. First off, one could remark that some aspects of Jesus’s teaching managed to disappear from the official doctrine of Christianity almost immediately, and for a variety of theological, cultural, and social reasons. As anyone who has a passing knowledge of the late Roman Empire is aware, they were known for being sexually liberate (at least if you were a nobleman, as the freedom certainly did NOT apply to women), and the notorious run of emperors who were having orgies and sleeping with boys and their sisters and hosting nonstop sex parties did a lot to sour early Christianity’s relationship with it. Because pre-Constantine/Theodosian Code Rome was Christianity’s enemy (since Christians refused to perform the traditional civic sacrifices to the Roman gods, which was all that Rome required alongside permitting its citizens to practice whatever other religion they wanted), and because the emperors were such a high-profile example of sexual excess, that became an easy point of critique. Obviously, the Roman polemicists, like every other historian, should not be trusted on EVERYTHING they say about the emperors, but the general pattern is there and well-established. So Christianity, trying to establish its religious and moral bona fides, can easily go, “Well, Caligula/Nero obviously sucks, come join us and live a purer and more moral life!”

Constantine converted in the early fourth century and the Theodosian Code was issued at the end of the fourth century, which made Rome officially Catholic and represented a huge reversal of fortune for fledgling Christianity, helping it expand like crazy now that it was officially sanctioned. However, the Roman Empire was splitting into two halves, west and east, and the development of Greek Christianity in the eastern empire was strongly influenced by ascetic and austere traditions (if you’ve heard of the Stylites, i.e. the guys who liked to sit atop poles out in the Syrian desert to prove how holy they were, those are them). The cultural context of denial of the flesh and the renouncing of bodily pleasures also played intensely into the third/fourth/fifth century debates over heresy and orthodoxy. Some of the most vicious arguments came over whether Jesus Christ could have actually had an embodied (and therefore possibly inherently sinful) human body, or it was just a complicated illusion, the “shell” of a body that his entirely divine nature then inhabited without actually being part of. This involved huge theological arguments over the redemptive nature of the Eucharist and even Christ’s sacrifice: was it real/effective/genuine if he didn’t REALLY die and suffer the pain of being crucified, and was just assured that he’d be fine ahead of time? So yeah, the question of whether Christ had a real body (because then that might be sinful) was the knock-down, drag-out theological disagreement of the early centuries C.E., and left a lot of hard feelings and entrenched positions in its wake.

Likewise, your dad is correct in having a bone to pick with Augustine, at least in terms of his impact on views of sexuality in the late antique and early medieval Christian church. Augustine is obviously famous for agonizing endlessly over his sexuality/sexual urges in Confessions, his time as a Manichaean, his relationship with a woman and the birth of his son out of wedlock (and if you want a lot of repressed homoeroticism: well, Augustine’s got that too) and how his conversion to Christianity was intensely tied with his renunciation of himself as a sexual being. Augustine also pioneered the nature of the inheritance of Original Sin: therefore, every human who was born was sinful by virtue of sharing in humanity’s legacy from Eve’s transgression in the Garden of Eden. (And yes, obviously, this led to the beginnings of the embedding of clerical and social misogyny. Oh Augustine, I kind of hate you anyway because I had to read the entire goddamn 1000-page City of God during my master’s degree, but bro, you got a lot to answer for.) This involved EVEN MORE obscure speculations about whether original sin was passed down in male semen, and therefore Jesus was free of it because he was supposedly born divinely to a woman without a male father, but yeah, the idea that sexuality itself was already a suspect thing was fairly well correlated and then cemented by Augustine’s HUGE influence over the early church. Everything post-Augustine incorporated his ideas somehow, and so the idea of bodily pleasures as separating you from divine purpose got even more established.

Then we had the Carolingians in the eighth and ninth centuries, who were the first “empire” per se in Western Europe post-Rome, and who were also intensely concerned with legislating moral purity, policing the sexual behavior especially of its queens, and correlating moments of political or military defeat with insufficiently virtuous private behavior. The Carolingians likewise passed these ideas onto their successor kingdoms, especially the medieval kingdom of France (which would eventually become the pre-eminent secular power in Western Europe). Then the eleventh century arrived with the Cluniac and Gregorian Reforms (which were interrelated). One of their big goals was for a celibate and unmarried clergy on all levels of holy orders, from humble village priests to bishops and archbishops. Prior to this, clergymen had often been married, and there wasn’t a definite sense that it was bad. But because of this, and the idea that a married clergyman wasn’t pure enough to provide the Eucharist and would be distracted from his commitment to the church by a wife and family, the Cluniac and papal reformers intensely attacked sex and sexuality as evil. Priests didn’t (or rather, were not supposed to) do it, and if you weren’t in a heterosexual church-performed marriage and didn’t want children, you shouldn’t be doing it either. (Did this stop people, and priests, from doing it? Absolutely not, but that was the rhetoric.) This was about when celibacy began to be constructed as the top of the heap in terms of holy lifestyles, for men and women alike and laypeople as well as those in holy orders. NOT having sex was the most virtuous choice for anyone, even if sex was a necessary evil for having heirs and the next generation and so on. (Which is interesting considering that our hypersexualized present attaches so much value to having sex of one sort or another, and the asexual-exclusion types, but yeah, that’s a different topic for now.)

Of course, when the Cathars (a schismatic Catholic heresy in France and Italy) in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries began attacking ALL materiality and sexuality as irredeemably evil, the Catholic church went a bit like “whoa whoa that’s a little too far, hold on now, SOME sex is good, sex can be nice, we’re not actually like those guys” (even though they had been about a hundred years before). Because Cathar spirituality taught that any kind of attention or indulgence to the body was sinful, that included any kind of sex at all, even married heterosexual intercourse. (Of course, the Cathars themselves didn’t always live up to it either; see Beatrice de Planissoles and her Cathar priest lover.) The Catholic church obviously didn’t want to go THAT far, so they began rowing back some of their earlier blanket statements about the evilness of sexuality and taught that husband and wife both had a responsibility to offer each other sexual pleasure and fulfillment. I’ve answered many asks about sexual behavior and unions in the medieval era, the arguments over the definition of marriage, and how that changed over time in response to social needs and pressures, so yes. We know what the IDEALS were, and what people were legally supposed to do, but the fact that church writers were complaining about bad behavior, sexual and otherwise, literally the whole time means that, obviously, this did not always match up with reality.

The theories of the Roman physician Galen, which prescribed that female orgasm was necessary to conceive, were also well known and prevalent in the medieval world, which meant that ordinary married couples trying to have children would have had some awareness that female pleasure was supposedly necessary to do it. (This ties into my “it wasn’t an unrestrained extravaganza of violent painful rape for women all the time YOU GODDAMN MORONS JESUS CHRIST” rant, but we will recognize that I have Many Rants. So yes.) Obviously, we can’t know what the sex life of individual married couples behind closed doors was actually like, but there were a variety of teachings and official stances on sex and how it was supposed to be done, and as noted in other posts, just because the church thought it is zero guarantee that ordinary people thought that way too. People are people. They (usually) like having sex. They had sex, both gay and straight, married and unmarried, so on and so forth, even if the church had Opinions. Circle of life, etcetera.

Anyway, then the Renaissance arrived (and we just had the “why the Renaissance sucked for women” ask the other day), which prescribed a reversal of all the comparative sexual and political and social latitude that women had gradually acquired over the medieval era. It very much wanted to see women returned to their silent, domestic, maternal, objet d’arte roles that they had occupied in antiquity, and attacked the actions of women in their public and private lives as one of the major causes of the crises of the late medieval era. (Because you know, misogyny is always a useful scapegoat rather than blaming the powerful men who have fucked everything up, as we’re seeing again right now.) Because the Renaissance is regarded, fairly or unfairly, as the start of the early modern Western world, it’s where a lot of modern gender attitudes and views of sexuality became more explicitly codified and distributed faster than at any point in history before, to a more extensive audience, thanks to the invention of the printing press. We’ve obviously had moves toward sexual liberation and agency in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, and the emergence of the modern feminist and gay rights movements, but now in some ways, we’re back in oddly Puritan attitudes in the twenty-first century. And since America was founded by Puritans, their social attitudes are still embedded in the culture, fanned today by hyper-conservative Protestant evangelicalism. Even though Puritans themselves ALSO, shock surprise, didn’t always live up to the stringent standards they preached.

...whoof. I’m sure I’m forgetting something, but hopefully that gives you the broad-strokes development.

[kevindayisafrog]

Part 9 (?) of the Kevaaron thing

TW - mentions of anxiety, suicide and past abuse

Kevin tapped idly on the window as a bug flew onto the other side. It’s wings blew in the wind and Kevin let himself imagine the freedom of being able to fly; soaring through the clouds with the wind humming around you. Not a place or care in the world. “Kevin, sweetheart”, Kevin snapped his head up and stood awkwardly as Bee made her way over with a warm smile, “it’s so good to see you here. Do you want to come in?” He nodded stiffly and forced his numb legs to follow Bee into her spacious office. “Take a seat wherever, I’ll just pop the kettle on”, she walked over to the small white side and began to pull porcelain mugs out of a cupboard. He watched her in silence, not being able to sit himself down on the creaky leather couch. He stood in awkward silence until she looked up and walked over with the drinks. “It’s okay to be nervous, Kevin. We don’t have to talk about everything, this is only a quick check up”, she sat down opposite the couch and Kevin slowly sat down too. “How are you today?”, she smiled softly at him and took a sip of her hot chocolate. “I’m okay”, he shifted awkwardly in his seat and stared down at his drink. “Do you know why you’re here?”, Bee placed her drink carefully onto the small coffee table between them and picked up a pen and clipboard with paper attached. “I’m guessing because Riko..” he cleared his throat and tried to utter the words “killed himself” but the words were like bricks stuck inside of his throat. “Don’t worry, you don’t have to say the words”, she scribbled something down and Kevin tried to read it without it being too obvious. “Was it a shock to you? I heard you were quite close growing up”, she shot him a pitying look before smiling again. “Yeah, we were. But things changed when we became teenagers”, he remembered how close the two were. They used curl up in each other’s beds after nightmares and patch each other up after an especially cruel punishment from Tetsuji. Riko wasn’t always bad, Kevin used to trust him with his life. But things changed. The only thing Kevin could trust Riko with was taking his life away. Once Riko found out that Kevin was his pet, the boy Kevin once knew died. And now the other one was gone too. “Do you want to talk about the change?” Bee nodded as Kevin shook his head sternly. “That’s okay. Do you want to talk about how he was before things went wrong?” Kevin thought back to the smiley boy he once knew and winced at the memory. “No”, he whispered, still not looking Bee in the eye. “That’s okay, maybe we could just-“ she started but stopped when Kevin let out a vicious laugh. “Stop saying that it’s okay. Nothing is okay”, he looked at the wall behind her before whispering, “it never has been and it never will be”. Bee watched him in silence before taking another sip of her drink and sniffing. “What do you mean by ‘it never will be’?” Kevin didn’t answer her question, a burning feeling soaring across his skin. “You may not think it now, but it will eventually get better. I promise”, she stared at him quietly for a moment longer before changing the subject. “At my last session with the twins, Aaron stayed back to ask a few questions”, Kevin slowly tore his gaze from the wall to Bee. “What about?”, he asked, his hands scratching at his jeans. “He was asking about help with treating anxiety, is this familiar to you?” Kevin’s heart jumped into his throat and he had to swallow it back down with the bile. “No”, his voice cracked and he hoped that Bee didn’t hear it, though of course she did. He couldn’t breathe. This was why he didn’t want to come here, he didn’t want to talk about stuff like this. It was too personal, crossing too many lines. “He told me it was for research for class at first, but then told me that he was worried about you”, she held up a silencing hand when Kevin tried to object, “I was quite proud of him for speaking out about it because usually he prefers to stay apathetic about these things. You must mean a lot to him”. She watched him over the top of her glasses with a slight twinkle in her eyes that made Kevin’s chest twinge.

Did he mean something to Aaron? It didn’t seem like it, well apart from last week at Eden’s and the morning after with the talk. But they weren’t close, Aaron didn’t even like him. Did he like Aaron? Kevin let his mind slip into all of his interactions with Aaron and came up with an odd burning sensation in his stomach. Aaron did always check up him and Kevin did always make sure that Aaron slept - he knew that the other boy stayed up all night studying instead of getting the rest that he needed. He let his skin feel the phantom touches of Aaron’s body nudging his or Aaron’s strong hugs after a win at Exy (and even the rare hugs after a win at a video game). “We’re not that close”, he suddenly announced too loudly as his mind slipped into dangerous territory. Kevin wasn’t allowed to think this. Plus, Aaron had Katelyn, Kevin had Thea. Kevin winced at the reminder that he didn’t have anyone, he even pushed his girlfriend away. Well, ex-girlfriend. “I thought that I saw Aaron waiting outside for you”, Bee looked over her shoulder at the window as if Aaron were to suddenly appear. “Um, well yeah. But it’s only because he didn’t want me to go alone. Incase it was too much..” Kevin let himself trail off as he reached for the mug of hot chocolate, just for a distraction for his hands. Bee hummed in response and scribbled something down on her paper. “Would you say that you have difficulties keeping people close?” Kevin choked on his hot chocolate at the unexpected question. He felt the burning feeling itch upon his skin again and placed the mug down too quickly, grimacing as the drink spilled out onto the coffee table. “Sorry”, he stammered as he leant over and cleaned up the mess with his sweater sleeve. “No, it’s fine. I’m sorry for flustering you with the question, I should’ve given you a warning”, she didn’t look up as she hastily wrote down the incident. “Is it okay if I don’t answer that? At least right now”, Kevin looked down at his soaked sleeve and wiped it on his thigh. “Of course, would you like me to give you some time to think over it? You could come back next..” Bee flicked through the pages on the clipboard to a page taped to the back. “Next Thursday? How does 11am sound?” Kevin nodded quietly and silently cursed himself for his stupidity. Coming back here was the last thing he wanted right now, if ever. “Well I’ll be happy to see you then”, she smiled at him and glanced up at the plain white clock on the wall. “We have a few minutes left, anything else you want to discuss?”

Kevin walked out of the clinic into the breezy afternoon with a growing weight on his shoulders. “How did it go?”, Aaron pushed himself away from the wall and walked up to Kevin with a bored expression. Kevin blinked down at him, he hadn’t expected him to wait. “I have to come back next week”, he held up the appointment slip to show Aaron who just nodded in reply. “Shall we go then?” Kevin asked quickly as he led the way back towards campus. They walked along in silence and Kevin couldn’t stop himself from shooting quick glances down at the boy beside him. Surely he didn’t like him, right? He watched how Aaron slightly strutted as he walked, how his shoulders slumped as they rocked side to side with each step. How the wind whipped his bleach blond hair around his pulled up hood. And how his jeans were DIY frayed at the bottom to fit just above his old Dr Marten boots. How his jeans pulled tightly across - Kevin snapped his gaze away from Aaron to the sidewalk in front of him. Fuck. Now this was the last thing he needed right now.

[wordsintimeandspace]

Sleepless Nights

Aziraphale has spent thousands of nights not sleeping. It’s nothing special. Except there are nights - usually spent watching over a certain demon - that are more memorable than others.

Or: five times Aziraphale didn’t sleep, and one time he did.

Aziraphale/Crowley, rated T. Read on AO3!

The rain has already started, big fat drops falling from the dark sky, and Crowley is still standing by the railing. Frowning, he looks out over the soon to be flooded lands. Aziraphale watches him for a moment, but when Crowley still doesn’t move while the rain soaks his robe and hair, he steps closer with a huff.

“What are you doing, Cra- Crowley?” he asks, feigning annoyance even as he raises his wings to shield them both from the storm. “Come inside. It’s not particularly comfortable, but at least it’s dry.”

“Just watching how far they’ve gotten,” Crowley says, nodding towards the horizon.

Aziraphale blinks. For a moment he can’t see anything in the dark of the approaching storm, but then he spots it: a group of humans, barely visible in the distance, marching away from the Ark.

“Where are they going?”

“Told them to make a run for it,” Crowley says with a shrug. “They might make it to the mountains in time.”

For a moment, Aziraphale is at a loss of words. “That was very kind of you,” he eventually says.

“I’m not kind,” Crowley snarls. “I’m thwarting you, obviously. If God wants to kill all the humans, best I can do is help them get to safety.”

Aziraphale hesitates. When he finally speaks, his voice is barely more than a whisper. “It might be too late.” No, actually that’s not true - he knows it’s too late, but he can’t get the words over his lips.

Crowley finally looks at him, his eyes hard. “Then I suppose your lot wins this round, angel.”

Aziraphale winces. It doesn’t feel like a win. It feels like anything but that. But it is God’s plan, and he can’t argue with that. He can’t question it, he can’t even have doubts. It’s not his place.

Crowley turns without waiting for a reply. With one last glance at the humans moving towards the horizon, and one quick prayer for their safety, Aziraphale follows him below deck.

They’ve set up camp earlier in a cramped storage room, hidden behind crates and barrels from Noah and his family, anyone who might object to their presence on the Ark. Aziraphale meant it when he said it wasn’t comfortable, but there’s at least an oil lamp for light and enough hay to make sitting on the hard wooden floor somewhat bearable.

With a snap of his fingers, Crowley dries his robe and hair. He paces the small space while Aziraphale sits down, his back against the wall, unsure how to break the tension.

Eventually, Crowley flops down onto the haybed. “I’m going to sleep,” he announces before Aziraphale can figure out what to say.

Confused, he stares at the demon. “What?”

“Sleep, angel. That thing that humans do at night. Don’t tell me you’ve never seen them do that.”

“Of course I have,” Aziraphale says, exasperated. “But why do you sleep? We don’t need it.”

“It’s nice. Being unconscious for a whole eight hours! Not having to deal with any of this!” Crowley gestures wildly around the room, and Aziraphale is unsure if he means the storm raging outside or present company. Maybe he should be insulted, but he’s still too perplexed that Crowley would suggest such a thing. “You should give it a go,” Crowley continues, oblivious to Aziraphale’s confusion.

Aziraphale thinks about it for a second, thinks about the loss of control, the helplessness, that comes with sleep. He shudders. “I think not.”

“Suit yourself,” Crowley says with a shrug.

And with that, he closes his eyes. He continues moving for a while, shifting on the hay, but eventually he goes still. Fascinated, Aziraphale watches how his breath turns slow and even and how the tension fades from his face. The furrow between his brows smoothes until he looks calm and relaxed.

It’s startling, somehow, to see Crowley like that. All open and vulnerable. As if he isn’t sleeping right next to his enemy. As if he trusts Aziraphale.

This realization knocks the air out of Aziraphale’s lungs. It feels utterly undeserved, this trust.

Eyes burning, Aziraphale averts his gaze. He can’t help but feel like a failure. He’s supposed to be a guardian, a protector of humanity, and now the lands are flooding around them and he can’t do anything to stop it. But despite all that, Crowley still trusts him enough to sleep right beside him.

Even if he’d been tempted to sleep before, Aziraphale doesn’t think he’d be able to close his eyes for just a second. This is the least he can do - sit in the dark while Crowley sleeps, watching over him. Keeping him safe when he can’t save anyone else. He’d do anything to be worthy of Crowley’s trust.

And so he sits next to the sleeping demon through the night, listening to the rain pouring onto the deck above, and desperately tries not to let the doubt set in.

~~~

Crowley lets out a groan as Aziraphale gently lowers him onto his bed. The demon rolls onto his back, blearily blinking up at Aziraphale as if he isn’t quite sure how he got from the dingy tavern into a bed that is as comfortable as it gets in the 11th century.

“Huh,” Crowley slurs after a moment, lips curling into a smirk. “Pretty sure that wasn’t part of the arrangement.”

“Oh, you- foul fiend!” Aziraphale splutters as Crowley lets out a snicker. “You know I have as little desire to engage in that sort of thing as you do. I simply didn’t want you to fend for yourself after drinking several bottles of wine.”

Crowley snuggles deeper into the blanket, letting out a content hum. “I know. Appreciate it, angel.”

“Yes, well. Perhaps you’d like to sober up before you’re going to be horribly hungover tomorrow morning.”

Grimacing, Crowley complies. It takes him a few seconds, but when he’s done he immediately looks more alert. He lets his gaze wander through the room, taking in his surroundings for the first time since Aziraphale carried him up the stairs. It’s a rented room in an inn, so there’s not much - just a desk covered in books and scrolls and, as Crowley now seems to realize, one single bed.

“You alright with me taking up your bed, angel?” he asks with a frown.

“Of course. You know I don’t sleep.”

“Still haven’t tried it? Not even a short nap?”

Aziraphale shakes his head. “No. I couldn’t really.”

Genuinely confused, Crowley blinks up at him. “Why not?”

“It wouldn’t be proper.”

Crowley snorts. “You have a demon in your bed, Aziraphale. Pretty sure that isn’t proper either.”

“Yes, well.” Aziraphale fidgets with the hem of his shirt. That’s not something he wants to examine too closely. “Are you going to sleep or not?”

“Yeah.” Crowley lets out a yawn. “What are you gonna do all night?”

“Plenty to read for me. Don’t you worry, my dear.”

Crowley looks over to the desk, and back at Aziraphale. “That chair doesn’t look very comfortable.”

“It’s fine, Crowley.”

“I know, it’s just...” He shuffles to the side, pressing his back against the wall, and pats the free space next to him. “Enough room in here.”

Aziraphale hesitates. Oh, he shouldn’t. He really, really shouldn’t, but… Crowley is right, he supposes. The bed is quite large. Possibly, miraculously, even a little larger than it was just moments ago. Before he can change his mind, he grabs a book from the desk and sits on the bed, his back against the headboard.

“There,” he says with a huff, trying to ignore the pleased smile on Crowley’s lips. “Happy now?”

“Perfectly,” Crowley grins. “Good night, angel.”

As usual, it doesn’t take him long to fall asleep. Aziraphale tries to keep his gaze fixed on his book, but he can’t help but glance over to Crowley from time to time. He takes in his face, so calm and relaxed in his sleep, and can’t stop the fond smile on his lips.

In theory, he knows he shouldn’t feel like that for a demon. Shouldn’t like him, shouldn’t be his friend. Shouldn’t have formed the arrangement with him. And definitely shouldn’t enjoy watching him sleep.

But he does.

Sometimes, the guilt is so strong and vicious Aziraphale doesn’t quite know how to deal with it. But now, as Crowley shifts in his sleep and presses his shoulder against Aziraphale’s thigh, it’s so very easy to forget about that.

~~~

Walking away from Crowley, leaving him in the Bentley with the tartan thermos flask that might contain the demon’s destruction, is possibly the hardest thing Aziraphale has ever done. He feels numb as he wanders through Soho back to his shop, passing people on a night out and lit up storefronts without really taking any of it in. In some ways, he relishes the numbness. He’s sure the alternative would be worse.

The bookshop feels too quiet, too dark, when he finally steps through the door. He’d never been bothered by the quiet too much, but now it feels deafening. All he wants is to fill it with Crowley’s carefree laughter, but he can’t. Oh, he knows he could call Crowley and ask him to come over, and Crowley would comply in a heartbeat. But he can’t, not until he comes to terms with what he has just done.

All he ever wanted was to keep Crowley safe, from the very first moment they met on that wall in Eden and he shielded the demon from the upcoming rain. No matter how hard he tries to tell himself that giving Crowley the holy water is a form of protection, he can’t shake the dread that he might be responsible for Crowley’s destruction if the holy water isn’t handled carefully, whether deliberately or not.

He knows he should be concerned about other things - about how this is the ultimate betrayal to Heaven, giving his enemy a weapon so powerful. About how much trouble he’d be in if any of the other angels ever find out. But it all pales in comparison to how terrified he is for Crowley’s life.

Aziraphale shakes his head, letting out an unsteady breath. He can’t stand any of these thoughts. He needs to get away, he needs to-

Abruptly, he stops pacing around the shop. He has an idea. Something he never really considered before, but he supposes there’s a first time for everything.

Slowly, he ascends the stairs into the flat above the book shop. At the end of the hallway is a bedroom. It’s filled with books, editions so precious to him that he doesn’t want any customers to lay an eye on them. But despite the stuffed shelves, Aziraphale has always made sure to keep the bed free. He’s never used it, but he always hoped that Crowley would, someday. He just never had the guts to offer it to him before, whenever Crowley was about to doze off on the couch downstairs.

Now, Aziraphale fluffs up the blanket that is still as fresh and clean as the day he miracled it there so many years ago. He lies down, pulling the blanket over himself. Somehow, it feels awkward. Whenever Crowley curls up in a bed, it looks so natural, so relaxing. Aziraphale is only painfully aware of how stiff he is. He doesn’t quite know how to sleep, but he’s sure that relaxing is one important step.

But he still wants to try. Being alone with his thoughts all night long seems unbearable. He’d wondered so often why Crowley liked to sleep, and maybe this was it. The reason why he slept on the Ark, the reason why he slept for nearly a century after he’d first asked for holy water. Sometimes the world is just too much, and sleep the only escape.

Aziraphale closes his eyes, tries to slow down his breathing. He’s exhausted, emotionally if not physically, but still sleep doesn’t come. He lies there in the dark, not sleeping, until the morning comes.

Midnight has long come and gone, and Crowley and Aziraphale are still drinking in the backroom of the bookshop. Their conversation has slowed down in the last hour or so, after they fleshed out their plan to cancel out each other’s influence on the antichrist, in the desperate hope that he grows up into an ordinary human. There’s lots of things to work on, but for tonight everything has been said and done. Still, Aziraphale is reluctant to part from Crowley. Apparently Crowley feels the same. He hasn’t shown the slightest inclination to move from where he slouches on the couch, despite clearly being exhausted.

They’ve been silent for a while, and Aziraphale watches Crowley over the rim of his glass. Crowley’s head lolls to the side, his eyes slipping shut, and Aziraphale nearly thinks the demon will get some well deserved sleep. But Crowley jerks his head up after just a moment, blinking against the exhaustion that is threatening to take over.

“My dear boy, you look tired,” Aziraphale says, his voice quiet. “Why don’t you lie down for a nap?”

Crowley suddenly sits up straighter, shaking his head as if that might chase away the fatigue. “No,” he finally gets out. “Best not. Eleven years is not a lot of time, angel. I don’t think we can afford to waste any time on things like sleeping.”

Aziraphale knows it’s an excuse - they finished their scheming hours ago before returning to the wine - but he also doesn’t protest. He just purses his lips, watching Crowley in concern. He knows that Crowley gets nightmares sometimes, vicious and terrifying things, and he can’t really blame him for not wanting to close his eyes after just delivering the antichrist. He doesn’t want to imagine what he might see.

“All right, then,” he finally says. Crowley relaxes slightly, obviously relieved he doesn’t have to argue. His head lolls back against the back of the couch, although this time his eyes stay alert. The tension doesn’t fade from his face.

That night, neither of them sleeps. They pass the bottle back and forth, talking about everything and nothing. Secretly, Aziraphale wishes the night would never end, that they could exist forever in the sanctuary that is the backroom of his bookshop. But eventually, the world awakes around them. The spell of the night is broken. Crowley says his goodbyes, stiff and formal, and it takes all of Aziraphale’s willpower to not hold him back. He knows he can’t, no matter how much he wants to.

They have a world to save.

~~~

Crowley is half asleep by the time they make it back to London and step into his flat. With all he’s done today, Aziraphale is surprised he held out that long. But no matter how tired he must be, how much he sways on his feet, his grip on Aziraphale’s hand is still firm. He hasn’t let go since they boarded the bus, and Aziraphale is more than grateful for it. It’s been an impossibly long day, but Crowley’s touch grounds him more than anything else in the world.

“There we go,” Aziraphale says, his voice low, as he shuts the door behind him. “Let’s get you to bed, darling.”

Crowley doesn’t protest as Aziraphale steers him toward the bedroom. He all but collapses onto the black sheets as soon as they make it to the bed, shoes and sunglasses still on.

Aziraphale peels off his boots for him, and then nudges Crowley’s shoulder until the demon rolls onto his back with a grumble.

“You can go to sleep in a moment, dear, but I don’t think these are very comfortable,” Aziraphale says, tapping a finger against the rim of Crowley’s glasses. “Can I take these off?”

Crowley is quiet for so long that Aziraphale begins to suspect he’s already fallen asleep. But then Crowley moves so fast it nearly makes Aziraphale jump. He knocks Aziraphale’s hand aside, rips the glasses off his face himself and flings them onto the nightstand.

“Sorry,” Crowley mutters, not meeting Aziraphale’s eyes. “It’s just… Hastur took them off earlier, in the car.”

“Don’t you dare apologize for that,” Aziraphale protests. A bit hesitant, he reaches out to Crowley again, letting out a breath of relief when Crowley presses his cheek against his palm. An invitation to touch. “I’m so sorry he did that to you,” Aziraphale continues, quieter this time, as he brushes his thumb over Crowley’s cheek. Crowley lets out a hum in the back of his throat, his eyes slipping shut.

“You should get some sleep.”

Suddenly, Crowley’s eyes open again, wide and panicked. “The prophecy,” he gasps, struggling to sit up.

“What about it?”

“We still have to figure it out.”

“You need rest, Crowley. Let me take care of that.”

“But-”

“No buts,” Aziraphale insists, gripping Crowley’s shoulder to prevent him from jumping out of bed. “My dear, you have done so much today to keep us and all of humanity safe. I can take over for a while.”

Crowley looks like he’s about to argue some more, but eventually sags back down. “Fine,” he grumbles, running a hand over his face. “But at least get into the bed, angel.”

Aziraphale smiles. “Of course. I’m not planning to go anywhere.”

Crowley shuffles to the side, making enough room for Aziraphale to sit comfortably right next to him. They have done this dozens of nights before, but somehow, it feels different tonight. There’s no guilt, there’s no doubt. For once, Aziraphale is sure that this is exactly where he’s supposed to be. More than that, exactly where he wants to be. Right next to Crowley, watching over him as he sleeps. He’s made his choice.

As soon as Crowley is curled up on his side and Aziraphale has settled against the headboard, he reaches out to take Crowley’s hand. Crowley smiles, his eyes already closed, as he slips his fingers through Aziraphale’s. Tonight was the first time they’ve held hands, properly, intentionally, instead of just a fleeting brush of fingers. It already feels more natural than breathing.

Exhaustion finally catching up with him, Crowley only takes minutes to fall asleep. He shuffles a little closer to Aziraphale and finally goes still, their hands still entwined.

During the night, Aziraphale sits, and thinks, soothes Crowley when his nightmares hit, and thinks some more. Early in the morning, when the first rays of sunshine creep over the horizon and Crowley blinks his eyes open, Aziraphale is still right next to him to greet him with a plan.

~~~

It’s over.

They’ve won.

They’ve tricked both Heaven and Hell, and they’re finally free to do whatever they’d like to do.

Aziraphale knows all this, but he still can’t shake the dread creeping up on him once they’re back from the Ritz. His hands tremble as he pours their tea, and he actually has to take a few minutes to calm his breathing before he steps back into the backroom where Crowley is lounging on the couch.

Crowley looks utterly relaxed, his sunglasses discarded on the coffee table, his head propped up on the armrest and one leg spread out on the couch. For a second Aziraphale is startled by the stark contrast to how anxious he feels, but he makes sure to put on a smile before Crowley looks at him. It wouldn’t do to worry the demon, not after what they’ve been through in the last few days.

“Here you are,” Aziraphale says, setting the tea down on the coffee table before sitting on the opposite end on the couch.

There’s something - maybe the waver in his voice, or the quiver of his lip - that gives him away. Crowley sits up a little straighter, regarding him with a careful look.

“You alright, angel?” he asks quietly.

“Of course. Fine. Tip-top!” Aziraphale gets out in a hurry, but his voice is breaking.

Crowley frowns at him, eyebrows drawn together in worry. “Out with it. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Aziraphale says miserably, and he means it. There is nothing wrong, and he can’t explain why he still feels like the world is going to end. He jumps up from the couch, desperate to escape Crowley’s concerned gaze, but of course the demon follows him.

“Aziraphale…” Crowley begins, carefully reaching out to him. It’s the impossible gentleness in his voice that finally makes Aziraphale’s tears spill over. Exhausted and overwhelmed, shaking so badly that Aziraphale is glad he’s not holding his teacup anymore, he does the only thing that seems sensible: he throws himself into Crowley’s arms.

They’ve never hugged before, but Crowley doesn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around Aziraphale, holding him so tight until it feels like he’s the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

“What’s wrong?” Crowley asks again, right into his ear, rubbing his hands along Aziraphale’s spine.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Aziraphale sobs into his neck, clinging a little tighter. “I don’t know why I feel like this. It doesn’t make any sense.”

Crowley lets out an understanding hum. “It’s alright. Sometimes things just catch up with you. It happens.”

“Well, I’d like it to stop.”

Crowley’s chest rumbles as he lets out a short laugh, and Aziraphale marvels in the fact that he can actually feel it. He’s suddenly painfully aware how close they are, bodies pressed together from head to toe. It’s simultaneously the most terrifying and exhilarating thing, and he can’t imagine ever letting go.

“Come on,” Crowley says, oh so gently. “Let’s lie down for a second.”

He moves them towards the couch, but Aziraphale stops him. “Bed,” he croaks.

“What?”

“Bed. I have a bed upstairs.”

“Okay,” Crowley breathes out, guiding Aziraphale upstairs without ever easing his grip around his shoulders. Aziraphale clings to him when Crowley urges him to lie down, and so they find themselves in bed together, still entwined. Crowley keeps holding him close, and as Aziraphale hides his face in the crook of his neck, his tears slowly subside.

Crowley presses a feather-light kiss to the top of his head. “I know it’s not your thing, but maybe you should sleep,” he says quietly.

Aziraphale sniffles. “I don’t know how,” he admits. He doesn’t want to think about that one night when he tried and failed to sleep.

“I’ll show you how. Close your eyes.”

“They are already closed.”

“Great, good job, gold star for you,” Crowley grins. “Now you’ve just got to relax.”

Aziraphale tries, but gives up after a few seconds. “I don’t know how to do that either.”

“Don’t worry, you’re doing okay on that so far. Let me help.” Crowley slips one leg between Aziraphale’s, bringing him impossibly closer. He still has one arm wrapped around his shoulder, his fingers drawing circles onto his back, and moves the other one higher to stroke his fingertips along Aziraphale’s neck. He massages away the tension in Aziraphale’s muscles, and when his fingers eventually slip into Aziraphale’s hair, he’s already boneless in Crowley’s arms.

“There you go,” Crowley whispers. “Sleep, angel. I’ve got you.”

Aziraphale lets the exhaustion wash over him, making his limbs heavy. He remembers how he always thought falling asleep would be terrifying - the vulnerability, the helplessness of it. But now, wrapped into Crowley’s arms, without fear of repercussion from Heaven or Hell, Aziraphale only feels safe. He knows Crowley would never let any harm come to him. He smiles into Crowley’s neck, and before he can comprehend what’s happening the soft touches and quiet whispers lull him to sleep.

~~~

Waking up is a little disorienting at first. Aziraphale comes back to consciousness only gradually. The first thing he becomes aware of is a firm body pressed against his own and arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders. He nearly panics in the one second it takes him to recognize the familiar scent. Letting out a breath, he allows himself to relax again, sagging against the body holding him close. It’s Crowley. Of course it is.

“Good morning, angel,” comes the familiar voice of the demon, low and rumbling. Aziraphale can’t help but smile.

“Good morning, my dear,” he says as he blinks open his eyes, moving away from the crook of Crowley’s neck just enough to see his face. Golden eyes greet him, loving and tender.

“Sleep okay?” Crowley asks.

Aziraphale takes a moment to ponder that question. He can’t remember anything from the night, no dreams or nightmares. But he feels rested, impossibly so, relaxed and content in a way he hadn’t felt in ages. “Yes, I believe so,” he eventually says.

“Good.” Crowley grins. “You slept a whole ten hours. Not bad for your first try.”

“Oh, dear. I hadn’t intended for it to be that long.”

Crowley only shrugs. “Looks like you needed it. You probably had some catching up to do.”

“Did you get some sleep as well?”

“Nah. Told you I’d watch over you, didn’t I?”

Aziraphale blinks at him, perplexed. He’d expected Crowley to need a good night’s sleep as well, after the trials. He did get to sleep the night before, of course, but...

“You’re not tired?” Aziraphale asks, searching the demon’s face.

“I’m fine,” Crowley insists, but he does let out a yawn as Aziraphale narrows his eyes at him. “Maybe a nap this afternoon on your couch, if you don’t mind.”

Smiling, Aziraphale reaches out to brush a lock of red hair out of Crowley’s face. “You’re more than welcome to do that. I will watch over you this time.”

Crowley is quiet for a moment. “You don’t have to, you know,” he finally says.

“What?”

“Watch over me. They’ll leave us alone, angel. No need to stand watch at all times anymore. We could even sleep at the same time, now.”

The idea stuns Aziraphale for a moment. He thinks he might need some time until he’s comfortable with that, but then… oh, it’s the most tempting thing. He allows himself to imagine it - falling asleep in Crowley’s arms again, like he did last night but with Crowley relaxed and sleepy as well. Holding Crowley through the night, his nose buried in his red hair. Waking up together - either like today, or with Crowley still asleep, so he gets to see the marvel that is the first smile on Crowley’s lips as soon as he blinks open his eyes. So many possibilities, and Aziraphale wants to experience them all. Wants to spend all his nights like this, for as long as the universe allows.

He smiles, beaming and wide, and Crowley answers with a blinding smile on his own. “That, my dear,” Aziraphale starts, “sounds simply marvelous.”

[sareyen]

A Machine Without Feelings: A Jane Eyre AU (Part 11/11)

Read on ao3

Epilogue

Logan stood outside the countryside estate, whistling a little at its sheer scale. It was large, but considering Chuck had been given 20,000 pounds, he had expected something larger. That was just like Chuck, though. He had been content in their Eden House, cramped and simple as it was.

Chuck was always someone who valued the people around him, rather than walls and ceilings and windows. Seeing the estate before him, grand but also warm and exactly like Chuck, Logan smiled. It has been ten years since he’d last seen the blue-eyed man and his sisters, and it was comforting to know that some things still remained the same.  

From where he stood outside, Logan could hear the sound of children laughing, a chorus of voices rising up through the gaps in the door. There were too many voices to count, but that was understandable for a school.

Logan had thought that he would have had more trouble tracking down Charles Xavier, but the man had made it ridiculously easy.

After killing Stryker, Logan had gone to the Americas, where he lived a hard and fast life. It had been fun, for a while, but part of him always longed to go back to the days where it was just him, his sisters and Chuck. Ten years had passed, and it was time to come back home.

When his ship had docked, he had gone by horseback from the port city to the shire Chuck’s lover's Ironfield Hall was in. He was surprised to find that the place had become a school and had nearly turned back, until he saw the plaque out the front.

Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters

Logan had grinned. Chuck had not been idle for the past decade, starting up a school. He had heard from the owner of a local inn that the school was built two years ago on the land owned by a Mr Lehnsherr. Apparently, the original estate had been burned down in a tragic accident and left abandoned for years.

Ironfield had always been a bit of an enigma before it had been burned to the ground; people knew that the master of the grand old house was a Mr Lehnsherr, and that he was an unsociable and cold man, though rich and powerful. No one knew much about his family, except that his parents had passed when he was barely a man. It had only been after the fire broke out that it was discovered that Mr Lehnsherr had a wife, who perished in the blaze. Most felt pity for the man, losing a wife and his home in one fell swoop. Others, who had heard the rumours that the woman had been mad and vicious, thought him blessed instead. Others did not believe in rumour and hearsay, just knowing that Mr Lehnsherr was a reclusive and obscure man, one that was more myth than tangible reality.

There had been some other rumours that circulated just months before the fire, about how Mr Lehnsherr had kept a lover who ran away - a man. Someone spread the rumour that the master of Ironfield was not only an adulterer, but a sodomite. But not many people paid heed to the rumour; Mrs Emma Summers, née Frost, had heard of the rumours and laughed them silly - her dear friend, Mr Lehnsherr, had only ever loved true once in his life. She told everyone that the man that left had been under Mr Lehnsherr's employment - a simple tutor, who sought employment elsewhere when his pupil was sent to school. 

People forgot about the rumours after a short while, and Ironfield was left to weather and waste away as a cold and grey ruin. It was left this way for many years, and some people wondered if Mr Lehnsherr would ever return, but the years continued to pass and pass, and people eventually forgot about that too.

But then, a wealthy, handsome, kind and gentle man – a teacher – had come and rebuilt the estate, brick by brick, stone by stone, and had turned it into a school. While the school was named to take in ‘gifted youngsters’, everyone in the area knew that it was truly a school for orphans and underprivileged children. The school asked for no fees, and one would think that such a school would be horrible and mistreat its children, starving them because of a lack of funds. But if you ever saw a child from that school, they would say that they wished they could live there with their Professor X forever. Sometimes, they spoke of a quietly kind older gentleman that was Mr Xavier's dear old friend - one that was always by his side to help him when his leg ached during poor weather, and help push his chair when he was feeling ill. They just called him Mr L, like how they called the headmaster of the school 'Professor X'.

Chuck had always wanted to create a school to give children a chance to build a better life for themselves. Now, his dream had become a reality.

And all was peaceful.

Logan knocked on the school's front door, and was greeted by an older woman with brown hair and a kind and pretty face. A young man that looked to be about eighteen distracted the woman for a moment as he walked behind her. His pale blonde hair was messy, and his suit untidy and far too relaxed. The woman sighed at the young man that she called ‘Peter’ fondly, briefly chastising him for his appearance, before turning back to Logan, confusion on her features.

“Hello, Sir. Are you here to enrol a student?” the woman asked, and Logan snorted at the silly notion. The woman crinkled her nose at his unmannered response, but didn’t say anything, just looking at him warily.

“I’m here to see Chuck,” Logan said simply, the woman looking even more confused now, making Logan grin widely. “My sisters used to call him Professor X, but I suppose everyone calls him that now.”

The woman’s eyes widened, and things seemed to click in her mind.

“You’re Logan. I mean, Mr Howlett,” she said simply, Logan nodding.

“You got it. Now would you let me in? I’m already ten years late.”

“I should have known it was you. He did say you were a rough kind of character,” Moira said, Logan chuckling at the words, the woman relaxing once she discovered the identity of the sudden visitor.

Logan followed Moira down warmly-lit hallways before stopping by a set of double doors. Logan could hear two voices inside, both male, and he licked his lips.

He didn’t wait for Moira to knock nor announce his presence, pushing the doors open with a loud bang, the two men inside the room turning to the sound.

Chuck sat there behind a desk, all blue eyes and brown hair, and another man sat atop it. Chuck’s hands were resting on the man’s thighs, whose own hands were reaching down to caress Chuck’s face. The professor’s eyes widened and his red lips opened to a shocked ‘o’, while the other man – who had to be the one and only Mr Erik Lehnsherr – turned with narrowed eyes that drifted aimlessly, unseeing but somehow still sharp and piercing.

“Logan,” Charles called out, the gruff man taking two long strides over to the professor’s desk, resting his hands on the edge to look at Charles.

Lehnsherr seemed to recognise Logan’s name, and his mouth pulled back to reveal two white rows with too many teeth, challenging. Logan grinned right back, feeling like he was exactly where he was meant to be.

~Fin~

[ladyoutlier]

For a writing request, maybe something about when Aziraphale+Crowley first met on the wall in eden? Like their first impressions of each other

Read on AO3

Aziraphale and Crowley once again found themselves feeding the ducks from a bench in St. James’s Park. One particular mallard was being extremely greedy for breadcrumbs and would scare every other duck away when they got close. A vicious little creature. Crowley was loving it.

Temptation at its finest, he thought. Stupid thing wants to hog all the food. It’s going to find itself in cardiac arrest with that behavior.

“Crowley.” The angel retook his attention. “Do you remember when we first met?”

“Course I do. Eden some 6000 years ago. Why you ask?”

“I’ve been reminiscing quite a bit about our time on Earth, and through that, I’ve found myself working back to that moment.”

“Would make sense. It being the beginning and all.”

“Yes. Well, I’ve been thinking about how things have changed since then.”

“Oh, yeah. Whole lot has happened. Civilization, government, cars. Could write an endless list.”

“What were your first impressions of me, Crowley?”

The demon ran his tongue over his teeth, thinking. He pelted the mallard with another balled up piece of bread. “I thought: Well there’s an angel that looks like a lot of fun to mess with.” 

It was a half-truth answer. Crowley very much had approached Aziraphale with the intent to tease, but there was also a sense of curiosity or perhaps awe. The demon hadn’t seen an angel since he himself was one. And this one seemed… friendly enough. At the very least, he looked as though smiting wouldn’t be his first reaction. Crowley really wasn’t interested in a fight. Had been enough of that lately.

Of course, his second impression of Aziraphale—after the angel had told him that he had given away his flaming sword—was a lot more meaningful. But Aziraphale hadn’t asked about that, and Crowley wasn’t going to say anything about it without being provoked.

“I wish I could say that I had the same relaxed impression of you.” The angel attempted to toss some crumbs to the other bullied ducks, but the same aggressive mallard ferociously waddled to them first. “I was wary. At that point, I hadn’t encountered a demon before. There had been stories Upstairs, and I do remember thinking that I wished I had my sword back.”

“Lucky it was me then. Plenty of other demons that a wary impression would be more than fitting for.”

“Yes, lucky indeed.”

They were silent for a few moments, taking in the environment. A jogger ran past them, and all of the ducks, minus the mallard, quickly cleared the path and jumped into the lake in front of them. It really was a gorgeous day. The weather was warm enough and cotton ball clouds lazily drifted in the sky.

“Did the fact that we were hereditary enemies ever make you wary of me, Crowley?”

“Maybe in those brief moments before I approached you. But otherwise, nah, can’t say I ever felt that way.”

“I guess that makes sense. My status as an angel would’ve caused you to forgo the fear of a potential backstabbing.”

Crowley rolled his eyes, dramatically rolling his neck as well just so Aziraphale would know what he was doing. “I didn’t say that. I’d say it’s your less angelic qualities that made you seem less threatening.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean that one of the first things you told me was that you willy nilly gave away the Almighty’s gift to you.”

“You told me that was the right thing to do!” “Yeah. I mean it was. Still wasn’t angelic. Angelic angels have their trousers hiked up too high to do something like that. More of a my way not the right way type.”

“I did feel a bit guilty about it. Like it was something I wasn’t supposed to do.” Aziraphale tossed his last piece of bread and swept his clothes of crumbs.

“Probably the best thing you could’ve done given the scenario.”

“Yes, they most definitely needed the sword. They might not have survived without it.”

“Oh yeah, was definitely good for Adam and Eve too.”

Aziraphale looked to him. “I thought that’s what you were referring to. What did you mean?” “Nothing, angel. Exactly that.” Crowley pulled himself into a more upright position on the bench.

“Really now?”

“Just meant that I might not have felt as inclined to hang about you if you hadn’t done that.”

Aziraphale smiled rather slyly. “So what you’re saying is that you’ve had a soft spot for niceties since the very beginning.”

“Don’t make me strangle this duck right now to prove otherwise. I will do it.” Crowley shooed the mallard away as if that somehow strengthened his remark. The beast snapped at him before joining his victims in the lake. “My exception for things like that stretches to you and you alone.”

That last remark was more damning than him just agreeing to Aziraphale’s comment ever would have been. It’s not that the angel didn’t know. It was just that the words had never been said. Such a blunt response that Crowley valued Aziraphale so highly. Sure, actions speak louder than words and all that, and Crowley had shown him that he cared many a times, but when the words had never been spoken, they mean an awful lot as well.

“That’s... quite a sincere thing to say. I wasn’t expecting you to just blurt that out. That you make a special case for me. I really appreciate hearing that from you.”

With Aziraphale’s reply, Crowley seemed to just now realize what he had said. “Yeah, well don’t read into it that much. I mean, of course I, uh, do things for you. We are friends after all, but it’s not like I’m planning my life around it or anything like that. Just let things happen naturally. Nothing all that special.”

Really, all Crowley accomplished with this was him digging the hole he found himself in quite a bit deeper. Crowley very much wanted that mallard to come back to offer a distraction. Maybe he would actually strangle it if it got Aziraphale to forget everything he had said in the past minute. He refused to meet Aziraphale’s eyes when he smiled at him.

“Well, I’m very glad to have met you, Crowley. I can’t imagine having gone through the centuries without knowing you. Strangely, I can’t say I’d be at all the same as I am now if I hadn’t met you. I can’t help but think this was how it was all meant to occur.”

“Ineffable, is it?” Crowley asked, regaining some of his composure as a smile formed on his face as well.

“Indeed. This day and all the others we have and will have spent together until the end of time. Completely ineffable.”

The mallard returned from the lake and began pecking at the stray remaining flakes of bread. Another duck from a different flock sprinted out from beneath the bench and snagged one of the mallard’s snacks before it could consume it. The mallard chased after the duck down the pathway, crying and quacking the whole way.

“Heh,” Crowley replied. “Until the end of time. That doesn’t sound that bad.”

[awellboiledicicle]

i will write more Good Meowmens, yes.

------

Someone who was not in the know about what happened in the Garden--garden here being stated with a capitol G, and most certainly not pertaining to someone’s vegetable patch--would be more than focused on what happened with the humans the almighty made there. This is not, necessarily, a bad focus-- especially if you happened to be one of their descendants and were overly curious as to how the human family tree didn’t go pear shaped rather fast. But it is not the focus of this particular story, in the sense that Aziraphale--guardian of the gate to eden, angel of the almighty, and being of love--was only superficially lion like to the passing human observer. The wings were a dead giveaway if you could see them, though he tended to not let the two humans in the garden see them. It might frighten them, he reasoned, especially given that they were busy naming things and not knowing what was beyond said garden. He was rather fond of a fruit they’d dubbed a ‘pomegranate’ and a kind of nut called ‘coconut’. Well, they’d eventually translate into that. Right now it was quite a different sounding language entirely, not that he minded. He also didn’t mind being their guardian against.. not terribly much. With the exception of a few animals that the almighty had placed outside the walls, the only things that could possible wager to threaten the humans under his charge were... well, the fallen. Not in the human sense of them being fallen--humans hadn’t discovered mortality yet, and the fallen hadn’t so much died as...  Aziraphale didn’t like to think about it.  He’d fought in that war, sure, and he had his sword and knew how to use it against what had been his own kind at the time. Before they Fell. That didn’t mean he quite knew... what he was supposed to do if one showed up. Thwart them, broadly yes, but... then what? He supposed discorporating them would do, but the thought didn’t make him particularly happy.  What did make him happy, he supposed, was watching the humans. Appreciating the landscape that the almighty had worked to create. The stark difference between the lush, welcoming garden and the burning sand. On occasion he’d reshape himself without his wings and sneak down among the trees for a good frolic, to see it up close.  This, in addition to his growing appreciation of an earthly behavior called ‘sleep’, was probably why an intruder was able to slip into the garden undetected.

The demon Crowley had been sent from below to, in very vague terms, throw a wrench into the works of this whole garden business. He didn’t personally see much issue with humans, aside of the fact they hadn’t worked out good and evil for themselves yet. Or much else, he assumed, if only because they were only a few days old at that point.  Poor creatures; this would be entirely too easy. And it was-- it’s not terribly hard for a rather large snake to tell a human, who doesn’t quite know what he is, to eat a fruit. Especially with the appearance of the built-in human flaw of curiosity. The two never stood a chance. They were shamed by their nakedness, what they had done, all that. Seeing them try to fashion clothes out of leaves was good for a laugh, if only because they didn’t seem terribly effective.  He stuck around for her to find out, and was oddly intrigued when a pale looking being on two legs ushered the humans out of the garden through a hole in the wall. Crowley assumed, after secreting away under a particularly sturdy tree, this was some poor sap that’d been stuck human sitting. He waited until the rumbling of an unhappy almighty passed, and was fully going to leave had he not been struck by a similar curiosity about just who would be patient enough to not lose their minds watching a mostly empty ring of dirt. Not that seven days was a terribly long assignment, he just couldn’t imagine Gabriel or Michael... doing anything but trying to kill the humans for their ‘sin’, he supposed. Seemed rather their style.  And thus, he found himself slithering up the wall to curl on the warm stones at the top, eyeing the angel cautiously. Said angel was twitching his wings, tail flicking back and forth nervously, with a distracted expression. Crowley wasn’t sure what he was being distracted from, given he was staring rather intently at the two humans wandering off into the distance. He hummed, a much more raspy sound than strictly necessary, to see if the angel was paying attention. The only reaction he recieved was an additional twitch of a wing.

“Well, that went over like a lead balloon.”  That got the angel’s attention, and earned him a once over. Aziraphale was less surprised by the demons sudden appearance, and more suddenly deeply disappointed in himself. A demon in the garden was not, according to his job discription, to be allowed. He both failed to keep this demon out of the garden, and had more than enough confusion than to try to puzzle out what he was talking about. “Excuse me?” “I said, that went over like a lead balloon. Went poorly.” He paused. “Well, for them.” “I should say so!” Another round of fidgets. “Bit of an overreaction, if you ask me.” The snake tilted his head, watching the humans work across what he knew to be terribly hot sand on fleshy feet. His tongue flicked for a moment. “Don’t know what’s so bad about knowing the difference between good and evil. Bit obvious of the almighty, though.” Aziraphale shot him a rather confused look before focusing back on the humans as they managed to crest another dune. Crowley continued his thought with a light hiss. “Big tree in the middle of the place, big ‘do not touch’ sign. Could have put it anywhere, really. Another land, bottom of the ocean. The moon.” Aziraphale’s eyes flicked upward before landing back on the humans, tail thumping along the stones behind him.  “It’s not our place to question the Almighty.” His nerves were in his throat too, interesting. “It’s all part of the great plan, it’s--” “Are you going to say ineffable?” “Well...” Aziraphale shrugged and focused back on the humans. “Yes.” Crowley tasted the air a moment, eyeing the angel over before his head tilted curiously again. Another taste of the air, and Aziraphale could feel that if the demon had eyebrows he’d have raised them.  “Say, didn’t you have a flaming sword? Saw it from down below--” He watched the lion next to him give a particularly large fidget. “--It was flaming like anything.” “Yes, i did.” “Oh, lost it already have you?” Proud of his little jibe, Crowley was entirely ready to bother this angel about it, and then he caught sight of the face the angel was giving him. “I gave it away.” “You what?”  “I gave it-- there are vicious beasts! And she’s already expecting! They don’t have fangs or claws, and it’s going to be so cold when the sun goes down--” It was a moment like this Crowley was deeply regretting not being able to move his face much, because the grin he would be sporting would have been the width of his head.  “--and I couldn’t live with myself if they had to leave the garden and died cold and alone, when it was my job to protect them!” There was a beat of silence. “Get that out of your system?” “No, I don’t think so.” “Well, keep going if you want.” Crowley settled down onto his coils and gestured for him to continue using the tip of his tail. “I’m in no hurry, really. Name’s Crawley, by the way.” “I... I’m not sure nice to meet you is the proper response, is it?” The angel shook the stiffness out of his shoulders. “You may call me Aziraphale.” “Oh, I may? Well thank you for the permission.” The angel looked away from the humans as they ran across a more mortal kind of lion, not wanting to see the end of that confrontation. He could very much handle what happened--he’d handed them the sword--but he’d rather not. Instead he focused on the gathering storm in the distance, the first one in creation, before looking at the snake. His expression when he looked at Crowley was softer than he’d really expected out of an angel.  “I suppose you were the one that tempted them?” “Guilty as charged.” If he had shoulders, he’d have shrugged. “Not that it was much work. ‘Go eat a fruit that, aside from the big boss saying not to, is apparently the same as the rest here’ isn’t a masterwork. Still don’t see how it’s bad, though.” They were silent, looking back to where the humans were moving away from the slain lion, beginning to disappear in the mirage.  “It just is, Crawley.” “Idunno, what if I did the good thing--letting them learn-- and you were doing the bad thing, keeping them ignorant.” He hummed to himself. “I think it’d be pretty funny.” “I--” Aziraphale looked at him for a second before huffing at the snake indignantly. “No! No it would certainly not be funny!” “It’d be kind of funny.” “No!”

By the time the storm rolled over the garden, Aziraphale had resigned himself to both whatever the almighty’s wrath would be, and the fact this demon refused to leave. Probably out of mutual amusement, possibly because he’d gotten lonely, and possibly because Crowley seemed entirely less violent while they had their chat. Sheilding him from the rain--was the water blessed? Would it matter if it was or wasn’t?--seemed like the decent thing to do.  Crowley appreciated it.

[christopherrpike-archive]

‘ you’re not dying. it’s only a sprained ankle. ’ + authan please thank you!

never EVER say i don’t love you bc i do : /

Austin wasn’t sure what Hope County was like before the Collapse.

Now though, he knew for a fact that it was treacherous. Monstrous predators that were deadlier than ever, vicious sandstorms, and of course hundreds of highwaymen ready to bleed the county dry. It was dangerous, no doubt. He’s had his fair share of cuts, scrapes, bumps, and bruises just about everywhere on his body at this point.

Hell, a good portion of his injuries weren’t even from fighting the ‘good fight’, as others might say; miscalculated jumps, slippery slopes, and everything else in between counted for most of his broken arms and sprained ankles. Nothing he wasn’t used to at this point. After that encounter with the Twins at the fertilization plant, a sprained ankle was nothing to cry about.

But it seems as though Ethan thinks otherwise.

Right now, they were about halfway up to the Flame of Eden, with the man in question sitting in the shade, huffing as Austin tries to wrap his injured ankle. It’s become a routine at this point; every so often the Captain would come barging into the compound, insisting that Ethan joins him on some other inane endeavor, and while Ethan would’ve said he enjoyed himself… getting injured wasn’t fun in the least. “This is all your fault, you know,” he starts, crossing his arms, “I didn’t want to come all the way up here but no, you had to insist, didn’t you?”

The Captain shakes his head with a laugh as he tries to keep Ethan’s foot elevated. “I thought it’d be fun,” he replies, pausing when Ethan winces. “And it was, until you decided to ignore me and slip. Now, hold still so we can get this over with.”

“I didn’t want to stray too far from New Eden. I have people to look out for, responsibilities to uphold– I can’t do any of that when I’m miles away from them.” Another huff as he turns up his nose. “Besides, you’re only saying that because you’re not the one who’s injured.”

“Oh, come on! I’m tellin’ ya, once we get up there, your tune’ll change, trust me,” Austin says and a beat later, he pulls his hands away. “There we go, good as new.”

Ethan scoffs, twisting his foot a bit to test it out. Immediately, he winces. “If you think I’m going to take another step further up that mountain, you’re sorely mistaken.”

Austin rolls his eyes. “You’re not dying, it’s only a sprained ankle.”

“Well, either way, I’m not walking and you can’t make me.”

“Alright, alright, but we didn’t come all this way for nothing.” Austin purses his lips as he tries to think of another way, breathing out a sigh a few moments later. “I don’t suppose you’d be against being carried, would you?”

Without meeting his gaze, Ethan shrugs. “I might not be.”

Shooting him an unimpressed look, Austin turns around and kneels down. “Alright, hop on.”

“Fine, but if you so much as fall, I’ll kill you before we even hit the ground,” Ethan replies as he makes his way over. Immediately, he latches on, grip tightening when Austin lifts him up. “I mean it, Maxwell.”

“Yes, yes, I’m aware of that, your highness,” Austin tells him with a snort. “I’ll be careful, I promise.”

Hiking up a mountain was a lot harder when there was another person on his back, but Austin didn’t complain. Especially when Ethan was busying himself by playing with the Captain’s hair. Definitely nothing to complain about. And so, without slowing down, without thinking, Austin speaks. “I could kiss you right now.”

Ethan blinks, and he’s thankful he’s behind the Captain, lest he sees that unforgiving shade of red on his cheeks. Even then, he gives Austin’s shoulder a quick smack, scoffing. “You still have a long way to go, shepherd. Bring us to the top then maybe I’ll think about it.”

[fantastic-rambles]

I don't think I have followers who would ask me things (my fault, I don't social media) so I'm just gonna answer these. Or what I can, at least. xD

Please note that some of the links are NSFW. They lead to AO3 because not all of them were posted to my tumblr and I'm not into mixed link types. (I generally don't post gifts and drabbles to my tumblr because of how my brain works. Or doesn't.)

This year, I tried large cast fics! (Large=8. Guess who? Sk8. It's Sk8.) I ended up doing two of them as gen/fluff fics to celebrate Tadashi and Miya, and I did enjoy them. I wouldn't be opposed to doing more of them in the right circumstances/setting.

Uh... not sure. I can't think of anything I learned about myself *this year* but in general, I run on spite (hello my love of Adam 💖) and pick up way too many projects.

I am stuck in Sk8 hell and I'm loving it. Though I do feel bad for some of my fics on hiatus. 😥

I mostly wrote for Sk8, and a couple short things in BSD.

TadaAi/AiTada, Eden, an AiTada/OC (that I haven't written anything for in over a year, maybe two?), Chuuzai (haven't written any of it though... yet), Fyolai... all my staples

I wrote a short Fyolai birthday fic. Also a Beast SSKK fic. Both of them were crack-y. Oh. Also Aiichiro/Tadashi, Aiichiro/Kaoru, and Joe/Adam. Those were fun. 😏 And a foursome with Ainosuke/Kaoru/Kojiro/Tadashi. (And does Mob/Ainosuke count?)

Um... none? I just write things. There's not really meaning behind most of them. 👉👈

"All I Want for Christmas." It was a gift for someone I've met recently and become really good friends with/who's gotten me more into fandom. Though it was a bit rushed because I had a lot I was working on around that time. 😅

I don't know. I don't really feel that way about my writing. 🙃

"Look at Me." Only because it kept being pushed back by other projects. It's not done and won't be done anytime soon, but it's ongoing.

"Sleeping on the Job" and "A Quiet Afternoon." Just some nice, fluffy TadaAi domesticity. 💕

None: I just throw on a Pandora station (yes, I'm pre-Spotify) and let it go.

Chips, I guess? xD

Almost of them, lol. It would be easier to ask me which ones were *not* hard to title. 😢

Ahahahaha, thanks for making me realize I don't like any of the openings I've written. xD If I had to pick one, perhaps this one from "Vicious Appetites." It's just a PWP monsterfucking, but I adore Nagadashi:

“Ta-da-shi~~~”

The singsong voice roused him, his coils shifting around him as he lifted his head to watch Adam light the fireplace and the braziers. The chill of the room began to ease slightly before his lover climbed into bed with him, and Tadashi slowly began to unwind himself so that he could twist around the warm body. Adam’s skin was nearly scalding, but it was perfect for him as he began to wake up from his cold-induced stupor.

16. My favorite closing is definitely this one from "Thanks for the Memories." You show him, Kaoru!

Kaoru raised his head to stare the man in the eyes, and then he stuck out his tongue and raised his middle finger.

"Fuck off!"

Without waiting to see Aiichiro's response, he turned around and left the room, slamming the door behind him.

17. From "Rewrite the Scars," a long overdue dialogue and apology from Adam to Kaoru:

"So. You love him."

"I think so," Adam replied, his expression unusually serious.

"Why him?"

"Why Kojiro? Tadashi just makes me feel whole. You've seen him: he's so steady. I need that in my life. He's been with me for a long time, too. He already knows everything about me, and he accepts all of it. I don't think there are many other people who can say something like that."

"That's right. He was the one who used to pick you up when we hung out sometimes, right? Did you love him back then, too?" Kaoru asked. But he could understand: why Kojiro indeed? Truthfully, his answer wouldn't be that much different than Adam's, though he'd never admit it out loud. And he saw Adam frown.

"Maybe. But I don't think I realized it back then, if I did. Things were… different, before."

Adam fell silent, and Kaoru thought that was the end of it until he spoke up again, softly.

"But I am sorry, Kaoru. You weren't the only one dreaming about the past. That was why I couldn't skate with you and Kojiro. I didn't want you guys to know how much I had changed. Skating was always the place that I could just be myself without any pretenses, so I couldn't pretend that everything was the way it had always been. But in the end, I hurt you."

18. From "The Haunting," a scene from the start of the second part that (hopefully) turned the readers' perceptions of the first part of the story upside down:

The punch passed through the man, pressing into the cushions that lined the back of the chair.

“Oh dear, Langa. Have you forgotten already?” Adam’s own hands reached out to cup Langa’s face. But there was no pressure from his fingers, no warmth from his skin, no sensation of anything at all. And the eyes that stared at him blazed with the very fires of Hell itself.

“We can’t touch each other anymore. Because. You. Killed. Me.”

He enunciated each word clearly, each one stabbing into Langa. That was right: that was why they were here. Why he was here. As much as he tried to remember, sometimes Adam was still too real, even after all this time.

19. Adam always surprises me, lol. He just does whatever the fuck he wants and I write it down for him. But I think the most surprising thing he did was calling out a safe word with Tadashi in Behind Closed Doors. It completely changed my original intention/direction of the story.

20. Google Docs. I need somewhere that I can access easily on multiple devices, and that's it. I wish they had collapsible category options, though.

21. When someone asked to translate one of my fics to another language. 🥺 Also when someone else asked to make art for one of my fics. 🙏 It was my first time getting any sorts of requests like that, and I got two of them, so it made me really happy that they liked what I wrote so much to want to go to that extra effort.

22. Sleep, usually. I tend to stop writing around 2-3 in the morning. xD

23. What's recharging? Lol, but I enjoy playing some casual video games or writing roleplay with my friends when I'm not writing fic. I have a tendency to burn out on writing and stop for a while, though. My "year" of writing has only been about 5 months, actually, because I was burnt out for the first half of it.

24. All the commenters on my fics. They're amazing, and just getting a comment means so much to me. Other than one, but they fuel my spite and keep me going, so it's alright. 🙃 I write for myself for the most part, but I'm happy when people tell me that they liked it, too.

25. I'm planning to pick up my AiGin fic and keep working on it. I'd also like to start working on a cohesive AiTada/OC longfic rather than the two (three?) oneshots I wrote, like, two years ago. I've also got several other projects waiting for me in the short term. xD

2022 in review

What’s something new that you tried in a fic this year? How did it turn out? Would you do it again?

What’s something you learned about yourself as a writer?

What piece of media inspired you the most?

What fandom(s) did you write for this year?

What ship(s) captured your heart?

Did you write for a new fandom or ship this year?

What fic meant the most to you to write?

What fic made you feel the happiest to work on?

What fic was the most satisfying to finish writing?

What fic was the most difficult to write? Did you finish it?

What fic was the easiest to write?

What were you go-to writing songs?

What were your go-to writing snacks?

What was the hardest fic to title?

Share your favorite opening line

Share your favorite ending line

Share your favorite piece of dialogue

Share an excerpt from your favorite scene

What's something that surprised you while you were working on a fic? Did it change the story?

What did you use to write? (programs, paper & pen, etc.)

If you had to choose one, what was THE most satisfying writing moment of your year?

Did you do anything special to celebrate finishing a fic?

How did you recharge between fics?

If this were an awards show, who would you thank?

What’s something you want to write in 2023?

[thursdays-fallen-angel]

Peace-Weaver, Part 2

A continuation of @saltnhalo‘s birthday fic. <3 

Part One; AO3 Link

king!alpha!Cas, prince!omega!Dean; 4.6k

Dean spends a lot of time thinking about Cas.

Maybe even too much.

He can’t help it, though. He may have only spent a few hours total with the alpha, but Cas was so nice to him. Caring. Nurturing. So genuine and open in a way that most alphas in Dean’s vicinity don’t dare to be. Lacking in an alpha parent as he was growing up, it’s an experience he has truly never had.

But of course, that’s not the only reason he had liked Cas. The other reasons simply go without saying.

Regardless of whether he dwells on those other reasons or not, however, he supposes that thinking of Cas is only fair. The alpha is, after all, largely responsible for the way in which Dean’s life has unfolded in the time since they met.

After he returned home, Dean took Cas’ advice to heart and made an effort to settle things with his mother. Queen Mary was not pleased that he left to begin with, even without knowing that he went to Eden (or was attacked on his way there), but she was gracious in her forgiveness, and life resumed without them having missed a single beat.

Not even going back to normal can stop Dean from thinking about Cas, though. In fact, it does the opposite, because while Dean resumes his duties as crown prince as if he had never tried to leave them, he gets everything that goes along with it.

Including the war preparations.

Cas hadn’t understood the full weight of the debate he was settling, in telling Dean to listen to his mother. Dean knows that. But regardless, at its core, Cas’ perspective had come from too personal of a place to be ignored.

Even if it was only mentioned in passing, it was clear that Cas was still suffering from the loss of his mother. And if Dean were in his shoes, he doesn’t know how he would cope.

What would he do if he or Mary died while they were at-odds with one another?

Not only would Mary’s death drop the entirety of Campbell’s responsibilities onto Dean’s shoulders, but it would also haunt him. He knows that without a doubt.

He could hear it in Cas’ voice.

Dean doesn’t like preparing for war. He doesn’t want to see Campbell aligned with King Lucifer, and more importantly, he doesn’t want to sack Eden. Cas’ cabin was the most Dean has ever seen of his neighboring kingdom, but even that much was beautiful. Eden’s people (one particular man) were good to him. And if that somehow wasn’t enough to make him feel protective of it (it is), there’s also the knowledge in the back of his mind that if Queen Naomi had not died, Dean likely would have been married to her son. Eden would have been his.

Sure, that thought isn’t quite as appealing as it once might have been—also Cas’ fault—but it still means something.

But obeying his mother means making compromises. So he does as he’s told.

He contributes to letters his mother exchanges with King Lucifer. He works with Campbell’s top generals to ensure their army is in peak shape. He plans contingencies with his brother. He negotiates with their lords to secure all of the resources they could possibly need, accounting for their march on Eden’s capitol as well as a potential siege, seeing as Lucifer has made it clear he is not above starving the Novaks out if it comes to it.

And between it all, when he has a few hours or a night to spare when no one will notice his absence, he slips into the woods and returns to the cabin by the lake. No matter how many times he visits, though, and no matter how long he stays in the cabin each time, Cas never shows. With nothing to go off but that single location, he has no idea how else he might find the alpha.

Every night, he prays to the gods that when he does find Cas, it won’t be on the battlefield.

He prays to the gods that he won’t find him already dead, slain by his own army or Lucifer’s.

The alpha is of noble disposition, that much Dean is sure of, but if he can be in the perfect medium space between high-ranking official and nameless foot soldier, then there is a chance he will survive. There is a chance that Lucifer and Mary will not have him slaughtered for the purpose of solidifying their own control of Eden’s lands, and that he won’t be given back to the earth without Dean ever having so much as learned his full name.

Dean isn’t incredibly confident in the odds. But he has to hope.

Thankfully, the battle preparations actually take up quite a bit of the prince’s time. Cas wiggles his way into the gaps in his thoughts, and into the late nights when Dean can’t sleep, but as time passes, the alpha fades from the forefront of his mind. Dean doesn’t forget about him, far from, but he has to rationalize. Prioritize. Because no matter what may or may not happen with Cas, there is nothing for Dean to do about it until the war has passed.

As always, his kingdom must come before his personal desires.

At least, that is what he has to tell himself, several times over, to stomach Lucifer.

The letters that are exchanged with King Lucifer help to establish many of the necessary details of the upcoming invasion, but there is only so much that can be communicated in the written hand. Dean would rather not acknowledge such a detail, but when letters transition to meetings, first between generals and then with the foreign king himself, there is little for the prince to do but play his part.

Together, they solidify their plans, discuss formations, set a timeline. The sooner they can get to Eden, the less time Eden’s king will have to prepare, and so once they’ve confirmed that everything is in order, they set out. King Lucifer will lead his army from Gehenna’s capitol city, Dean will lead Campbell’s from their own capitol, and in the end, they will converge on Eden at the same time.

“With luck,” Lucifer says, with a foul smile that has Dean’s blood turning to ice in his veins, “the false king won’t know we’re coming until it’s already too late for him to save himself.”

To which Mary smiles and agrees, “I am confident in your successes.”

Dean remains silent. He thinks back to Cas, purely to remind himself of why he reconciled with his mother. Why he is in the position that he is in.

For Cas.

He can’t bring himself to be surprised when Mary elects to stay in Campbell during the march on Eden. When the time comes to depart, Dean’s horse is saddled and the caravans are ready, yet the queen is nowhere in sight—until, that is, she emerges from the castle doors, dressed far too regally for riding.

Dean suppresses a sigh and goes to her. He kneels at the base of the stairs she is descending, suddenly feeling spiteful enough to not give a damn for the mud he knows will stain the knee of his trousers when he stands again.

When Mary reaches him, she pets a hand through his hair and gently encourages him to look up. The soft smile on her lips doesn’t reach her eyes. “Dean. My son. It is time for you to prove yourself, and show all of Campbell that you are prepared to be a leader. Go out there and make me proud.”

The prince clenches his jaw. “You will not be accompanying us?”

“You don’t need me to. You are almost ready to be king. You need to prepare yourself for that transition.” Mary pauses; the brief silence is weighted, and not in a good way. “King Lucifer has made us a very good offer.”

Dean sucks in a sharp breath. He pushes up to his feet, decorum be damned, and uses his advantage of height to very nearly glare at his mother. “What kind of offer? Why wasn’t I told about this?”

Mary’s eyes narrow slightly, but her expression otherwise remains impassive. “King Lucifer has an alpha sister, Abaddon. Our kingdoms are forming a union to overtake Eden, and as such, Lucifer and I have agreed that solidifying that for the future with a marriage would be best. We will be dividing Eden’s resources evenly; our alliance is going to be very important over the next few years.”

The queen’s words leave Dean’s ears ringing. He had known that Eden was to be divided between Lucifer and Mary, absorbed in equal measure into Gehenna and Campbell, but a marriage. And to Lucifer’s sister, no less.

Dean has not heard much about Abaddon, but he has heard enough. He knows that she is cruel, vicious, sadistic, the most feared alpha in the land, the sword of Lucifer’s conquering army. And Dean has seen Gehenna; legend has it that the land was once green and beautiful, but now it is barren, abused by its leaders for generations.

Yet Mary arranged for Dean to wed Abaddon. To accept her into Campbell.

Dean feels as if he’s going to be sick.

Mary pats his cheek affectionately, either not caring for or not noticing his horror. “She will make a fine alpha, and the two of you will be very happy together. Just think about how strong your children will be. And when the two of you are crowned, side by side—”

“Mom—”

“—You’ll see that this was the best thing to do. You’ll thank me.”

Dean doubts that.

Mary presses a quick kiss to his forehead, Sam emerges from his studies for long enough to give him a hug, and the pair wave to Dean until he is out of sight, the long procession of his army trailing behind him. It’s a nice enough send-off, even if the destination is less nice.

The trip to Eden is slow and tiring. Travelling with an army at his heels is far different from sneaking off to Cas’ cabin, as it requires a continuous march of armed and ready soldiers, squires, and other assorted supporters, all in perfect order, bookended by flag bearers. It’s nothing short of an ordeal.

Thinking about it sets Dean’s nerves on edge, and has anxiety curling in his gut. It feels wrong. Out-of-step. Like he’s charging toward disaster with no weapon in his hand and no way to stop himself.

It’s not a good mindset for the commander of an invasion to have.

Dean tries not to pay too much attention to the actual journey into Eden, but such a thing is easier said than done. Eden is gorgeous, lush and green and littered with quaint, stone-lined towns and villages which even Dean could see himself living in. It speaks to a good quality of life, and reflects well on the Novak family’s legacy. Dean can’t help but like it.

But of course, the way that Eden’s citizens look on at their procession with fear significantly dampens Dean’s appreciation. They all know what’s coming; no matter how respectful Campbell’s army remains during their march (because Dean expects nothing less), they are still an invading force, and no one wants to see that.

And once word reaches Dean that Lucifer’s army is taking the raping and pillaging path up from the south, well. He cannot say he faults the people of Eden for their fear.

The note of wrongness in his bones only gets worse.

Despite the differences in their approaches, however, the two armies reach their agreed-upon field of battle at nearly the same time. Dean is overseeing the assembly of his army’s camp when Lucifer arrives. He holds onto his manners for long enough to greet the king, but once Lucifer returns the greeting with, “My sister will be along soon,” Dean makes an excuse about a headache and retires to his command tent.

It is not hard to guess why Abaddon is lingering behind her brother—the alpha is no doubt taking time to satisfy her bloodlust. Given that, Dean has no desire to see her. He hardly even wants to acknowledge her existence, until he absolutely has to.

He doesn’t sleep well that night. Hell, he hardly sleeps at all; the sounds of the camp around his tent grate at his senses, and what-ifs and whys circle around and around in his mind on an endless loop, making it impossible to relax.

He’s doing this for his mother, as he forcibly reminds himself time and time again. He’s doing it for the good of Campbell. He’s doing it for the resources they will gain from Eden, and for the new allies they will have in Gehenna, going forward. If all goes well, Campbell will never have to worry about a thing.

No matter how hard he tries to remain focused on those positives, though, he cannot quite convince himself. Eden has never done Campbell wrong. At times in the past, Eden has been their ally. It is a strong, but peaceful land, with rulers who have never done wrong by their citizens.

Why do they deserve to be exterminated? Destroyed, captured and enslaved? Because there is no doubt that that is exactly the fate Eden’s people will receive, with King Lucifer in command of their destinies.

Is having a lone alpha on the throne truly worth such a violent punishment?

When Dean finally manages to fall asleep, it’s to troubled memories of his father, intermixed with jumbled recollections of Cas. It’s a natural combination, he thinks, given the circumstances.

It is also a natural progression, then, when what sleep he has is filled with dreams of a reassuring alpha scent, and the imagined warmth of another body beside his own in his small bed. However, even in his sleep he knows that he won’t wake up curled on Cas’ chest as he had in that cabin; the melancholy of that knowledge prevents him from taking any sort of joy from even the dream’s lightest aspects.

He wakes unrested, and in a foul mood to boot.

The only silver lining to the morning comes from the fact that his squire enters his tent with a summons soon after he wakes.

(And that summons isn’t for breakfast with Abaddon, as was Dean’s first instinctual, bone-deep fear.)

Apparently, King Novak assembled his army in the night, with defenses raised around his capitol, and a forward camp set up around the outermost perimeter to match those of Gehenna and Campbell’s forces. The alpha king’s message is clear.

Eden will not fold easily.

Dean tries not to feel proud of the enemy king for that. He hastily begins to pull on a tunic, expecting to need to confer with Lucifer over the matter—he does not dread talking about strategy so much as he does nearly every other topic imaginable—but stops when his squire clears his throat. The prince glances toward the young omega, his brows pulling together. “Problem, Kevin?”

“No, your highness,” Kevin is quick to reply. “But—well. King Lucifer was the first to be alerted, and he has made his intentions clear. He and his sister are currently donning their armor. King Lucifer plans to ride out to meet the king of Eden to demand his surrender.”

Dean takes a moment to process that. He does not doubt for a second that Lucifer will tell Eden’s king to surrender—but he also knows that it will not happen. Not only is he a Novak, headstrong and proud by blood, but he’s also an alpha, and would never give up caring for his people in such a way. Though Dean has yet to see them, he knows the defenses established around King Novak’s city are proof of that. Proof that Eden will not be lost without a fight.

The fact that Lucifer is going out to meet him in his armor, then, means that that fight is nearer than Dean had previously expected. He did not expect to have much time, of course, but they only just arrived; Dean has only been on the front lines of a single siege prior to this one, a much smaller battle against one of Campbell’s own lords gone rogue, but no matter how different Lord Gordon Walker might have been from the king of Eden, there should be decorum. Ritual. Patience.

It’s only fitting that King Lucifer would act in defiance of all of that. Pompous jackass.

Kevin still looks nervous, clearly unsure of how the prince will react to the news of his ally’s behavior. As it is, there is little Dean can do but sigh.

“So we’re getting right to it, then. Wonderful.” He runs a hand down his face, then tugs his tunic back off and tosses it away. “Help me with my armor, will you, Kev?”

His squire rushes to his assistance, and soon enough, Dean is striding from his tent, plated in metal with a sword on his hip. He flicks his chin in a gesture for his personal guard to follow him along toward Lucifer’s half of the camp, too wary of Gehenna’s army to venture in alone even while armed and looking regal.

And he does look regal; his silver and gold armor is a perfect match for the intricate, sweeping designs of his crown, the shared metals working together in harmony to make him appear grand, capable, authoritative. It is by design, but also inherent in Dean himself. A role he was born to play.

But of course, Gehenna’s people are called demons by whispering voices on the street for a reason. Dean does not trust them to follow common sense.

Best to keep Benny at his side.

His guard obediently falls into step with him as they hurry toward Lucifer’s tent. The king and his sister exit just as Dean and Benny arrive, both dressed in their armor, as Kevin told him to expect. Lucifer’s armor is black as pitch, while his sister’s is a bloody red match for her hair. The sight of them puts a note of unease in Dean’s stomach.

Abaddon is the first to notice him. “Good morning, your highness,” she purrs, the corners of her lips curling upwards. “Great day to win a kingdom, wouldn’t you say? You certainly look ready for it.”

Her eyes rake suggestively across the clean lines of Dean’s armor. Dean clears his throat and fights back a blush.

From the way Benny chuckles under his breath behind him, Dean suspects he isn’t all that successful. Damn bastard. Dean would punch him, if the alpha weren’t covered from head to toe in leather and iron.

“Princess Abaddon, King Lucifer.” Dean nods toward each of them in turn, then fixes his gaze resolutely on the latter. He can’t shirk Abaddon forever, he knows, but he isn’t quite ready to face her. “I’ve been told that Eden has established defenses. Lost the element of surprise, did we?”

Lucifer shrugs. “King Novak knew we were coming, it was only a matter of when that surprised him. Behind his lines, he’s scrambling. He isn’t ready.” The king’s smile sharpens, then, and he gestures in the general direction of the city they are about to attack. “A birdy told me that the alpha king himself is already standing out in the field, waiting for us to talk to him. Would you like to accompany me and see if it’s true?”

Dean takes a deep breath, then dips his chin in a nod. “No reason to keep him waiting if it is.”

“My thoughts exactly.” Lucifer claps a hand to Dean’s shoulder, enough inherent force behind the gesture that Dean only barely doesn’t stumble. “Walk with me, Dean.”

Dean grits his teeth, but goes along without objecting.

Maybe it will be best to get this battle over with. The sooner they win this thing, the sooner he can go home, and be far away from Lucifer.

At least, until the king eventually brings his sister to Campbell.

What did Dean do to deserve this?

Lucifer and Abaddon make idle conversation as the three of them weave through the camp toward the front line. They don’t exclude Dean, but the prince has no desire to take part, either, so he gives short answers when necessary, but otherwise primarily ignores them. They mostly chat about hypotheticals for the upcoming battle and the damage they wrought during their journey north; in short, it is not a conversation which holds much interest to him.

The beginning of a headache throbs between his temples.

When they reach the front lines, Abaddon lets out a low whistle at the sight that awaits them. “Well, would you look at that.”

There’s a figure standing in the center of the field, silhouetted by the light of the sun, still hanging low in the sky. The man bears no banner and any details of his armor are lost over the distance, yet there is no way to doubt his identity. Only one person in all of Eden would walk out into the open and put himself at risk for the sake of negotiations.

“Oh, this is delightful,” Lucifer croons. “He really is desperate. Dean, let’s go meet him. And sister dear, prepare the archers, will you? We won’t kill him just yet, but he does not need to know that.”

Dean turns away to hide his grimace. Everything about this is wrong. And just when he thinks he has seen the extend of Lucifer and Abaddon’s monstrosity, it reaches a new level of horror.

Gods, give him strength.

More words leave Lucifer’s tongue, but Dean hears none of them. He starts walking when he king does, showing focus and commitment he does not truly feel, and maintains his appropriate place half a step behind the other omega. Every bone in his body protests the small gesture of submission, especially to a king so vile, but that same vileness is also exactly what keeps him from pushing his luck with Lucifer.

He is here for the job. Win the battle, sack Eden, go home. Keeping that at the forefront of his mind is the only thing that is going to get him through the events to come.

The walk out to meet the Novak king is a long one. The alpha had come out on foot, judging by the lack of a horse behind him, which Dean assumes is the prime justification for their doing the same—but he is also quickly coming to understand Lucifer’s savagery, and as such, is confident that the passage of time is an integral part of Lucifer’s equation.

Let Novak fear the archers he can see lining up in the distance. Let him sweat while his would-be conquerors make their unhurried approach.

They stop a dozen feet or so in front of the alpha king. His helmet conceals his face, but there are still plenty of other details about him for Dean to look over and assess. Despite all of his misgivings with so many other aspects of his current situation, Dean has no intention of misusing his first encounter with their foe. Still a step behind Lucifer, Dean lets his gaze sweep across what he can see of Novak.

The alpha is tall, broad-shouldered—fitting of his gender. The faceplate on his helmet makes it impossible to read too far into his emotional state, but the stiff way he holds himself says more than enough. His armor is a brilliant, beautiful shade of blue, the likes of which Dean has never seen incorporated into armor, yet right now, on this frame, it looks awkward and uncomfortable. Furthermore, while Lucifer has immediately adopted a cocky stance with his hand resting on the pommel of his sword, the king opposite them displays no intention of keeping his own sword ready to be drawn.

That last detail is particularly curious. Lucifer’s aggression is clear, yet Novak does not seem to have a reaction to it. Is it bravery that is causing such a behavior, or stupidity? Does he not realize what he is up against?

“Your majesty,” Lucifer greets, his tone dripping with derision. He tilts his head in a facsimile of a bow. “Gorgeous morning we’re having, wouldn’t you say? The breeze feels nice.” The omega king makes a show of tousling his hair, unsubtly calling attention to the sharp, golden crown which encircles it. “I see you are already ashamed enough of yourself to know better than to show your face. You may be an alpha, but maybe you aren’t stupid.”

Dean scowls at the back of Lucifer’s head. Not only is everything he says useless taunting and wasted air, but his sister is an alpha—is this what he truly thinks of her? They seem to have a good relationship, but the way he speaks of her gender suggests that she may as well be a particularly faithful hunting dog.

Dean steps forward to be even with Lucifer, breaking his earlier decision to quietly play his role for the sake of sparing himself from having to listen to any more pointless insults. He speaks out before he can be stopped, cutting straight to the matter at hand.

“We came here to set terms. We have no intention of backing down, but if you surrender now, Eden can change hands peacefully. There is no need for any more bloodshed than is necessary.”

He can feel Lucifer seething beside him, furious at being undermined, but Dean’s attention is elsewhere. For a long moment, King Novak remains impassive. His faceplate is angled toward Dean, but then, that has been the case from the moment they arrived; he might be staring at the prince, he might not. It’s impossible to tell.

The silence stretches out between them.

And then the alpha lifts his hands to his helmet. He moves slowly, every second carefully weighted, and lifts the helmet away.

The face that is revealed is tanned, with a jawline that is perfect and stubbled. There’s a mess of dark hair haloing his head, mussed from its time under the helmet, and Dean is hit with an all-too-familiar need to touch just seeing it.

Of course, the stunning blue of the alpha’s eyes are impossible not to recognize. Dean may have only seen them the once, for a span of mere hours, but he still would know them anywhere, even if they won’t rise high enough to meet his own.

Gods, Dean is going to be sick.

Cas can’t even look at him.

Of all the different ways Dean imagined finding him again, this was never one of them, not even in his worst nightmares.

But the gods are cruel. Dean should have known that.

As he stands opposite Cas for the first time in weeks, many of his memories of the alpha fall back into focus, with a painful amount of fresh clarity.

Cas’ obvious nobility. His quiet retreat of a cabin, away from his responsibilities. His reaction to the news of the war. His mourning of his lost mother.

Dean had not remembered the Novak king’s first name. He had not bothered to ask. He should have asked.

Lucifer begins to speak again, but Dean hears none of it. His world has been narrowed down to him and Cas, and nothing else.

Because it’s Cas.

It seems to take an eternity, but the alpha finally, finally raises his gaze to Dean’s. When their eyes meet, the prince feels something in him splinter, then shatter into a thousand pieces.

In that moment, he is hit by another realization, this one far more barbed than any of the last. It stings across his face, settles into his gut and leaves him feeling faint.

No matter what happens from here on out, he is completely, utterly, fucked.

[ladibugs2]

the sparkling lights of the night

@badluckpersonified and I have had this thread on two different platforms since April. It’s our oldest thread, and we finally decided to put it on our blogs. The full length is under the cut. 

I’ll be reblogging shortly with my most recent response. 

Bridgette had always known an arranged marriage was in her future. However, she hadn't had the ability to see into the future and see exactly when she would be getting married. Six months after having her heart broken by the love of her life. Seventeen, and already destined to marry. Of course, she shouldn't be so surprised she was being given away at her age. Things just felt... unfulfilled. Thankfully, Felix was only a few years older than her, rather than the dreadful ten or more years she'd heard of. No matter what though, she'd have Tikki. In the end, so long as she could be Ladybug everything would turn out okay. Today was her first day meeting Felix though. Unfortunately, her father couldn't be here with her. She was escorted inside by a burly man who reminded her of the gorillas she'd seen in story books. She'd been informed that Gabriel Agreste, the head of house, was out on business and wouldn't be returning for a few days. Which was fine, Bridgette would need some getting used to this before she met the owner of the grand Agreste estate. Her baggage had arrived before her, so all she had on her were the clothes on her back, a small handbag, and Tikki tucked inside the hidden pocket she'd sewn into her skirts. 

Inside the Agreste manor was just as grand as the outside. It was a bit breathtaking. To think that one day she'd be the lady of this house. As she scanned the room her eyes landed on the tall blond who she assumed was Felix. She straightened her posture more than the corset did for her, and smiled sweetly. She bowed her head slightly before looking up at him. He was so much taller than her. Bridgette took a few steps forward, just out of the entry. She didn't want to impose herself. There was an image to keep up, after all. "Hello."

It was only through the years of dealing with social gatherings that allowed Felix to have the ability to not to let the scowl he wanted so badly to express on his face. She was everything he expected her to be, polite, posh and pretty. His father's seemingly perfect match for the Agreste heir. Had Felix had his way there would be no wedding at all. He didn't need someone he didn't know or love having a say in his life, his father run the estate just fine by himself anyhow. However when the thought passed his head he remembered the warmth the household once held and forcefully suppressed images of a mother's kind smiles and hair the color of sunlight. There was no way he'd find that connection to anyone and he'd never be foolish enough to believe this girl could compare.

But never let it be said that the Agreste men were anything besides gentlemen. As Felix stepped forward to meet his bride to be, he stiffened momentarily as he felt Plagg get restless in the pocket of his coat. The troublesome little thing probably wanted to catch a glimpse of the girl that was his betrothed. With a little more force than necessary, Felix moved his arm to his front in a motion to bow and effectively clamped his closed fist over the kwami to cease it's wiggling. He gave a small dip in return, the ingrained manners driving his motions. "Hello. Your belongings are in the room adjacent to mine seeing as how we won't be expected to share a room until the day of marriage. Your presence will be only be formally needed when we dine and if you wish to leave the estate, someone will escort you. While at the moment I have no work, I ask that you leave me in peace when I do." Perhaps he was being too curt with the 'rules' but this was his effort to make the arrangement work. 

Resisting the urge to sigh, Felix waved off the bodyguard so he wouldn't follow directly behind them and offered Bridgette his arm, "But, as I said. I have no work today. So I will show you around the estate and we can get... acquainted." Thankfully, nothing besides the small hesitation showed his displeasure at the concept.

Bridgette wasn't sure what she'd been expecting, but this cold, borderline rude attitude had not been it. Somehow she forced her way past the first impression. Chloe hadn't been much better, and she'd turned out to be incredible. Chloe... If Chloe was here she'd make everything better. Bridgette already missed her like mad. Perhaps one day things would work out between them. Bridgette's mind wandered a bit to the idea of running away with her love. That was as improbable as ever seeing Chloe again. She smiled at Felix and took his arm, feeling Tikki get comfortable against her leg.

"Thank you. I'd love to see the estate. It's beautiful already, and this is just the entryway." Bridgette tried not to cringe. She could recall the scolding of her etiquette teacher. She was being too open, not quiet enough, not womanly enough. It was hard to fight her nature though, and frankly she didn't want to.

It was hard not to wonder why Gabriel chose her. Was her Asian background a bit of a novelty? An inelegant, well-bread, and exotic wife? Wow. Felix must feel so special. Mentally, she rolled her eyes. 

Felix was direct and to the point. Bridgette took it all in with wide, eager eyes. She asked a few questions, but tried to keep her intelligent questions out of it. That wasn't lady like. However, that flew right out the window when she saw the gardens. Her eyes lit up and she pulled her arm away slightly before catching herself and remaining at his side. "This is... This is incredible!" Bridgette was unable to stop her wide grin as she looked around. "I haven't seen that type of flowers since I lived at home. I didn't even know they could grow this far north! Oh, those plants attract all sorts of lovely butterflies. Spring will be coming soon and-" She cut herself off and glanced over at Felix before blushing darkly and bowing her head slightly. "S-sorry. I tend to get carried away. It's not exactly proper." She cleared her throat, the first outward sign that she was just as hesitant about all of this as he was.

Felix wasn't sure how to respond in all honesty. That was the first sign of true liveliness he's seen in her since he began the tour. Sure there had been her inquires as they progressed, but those seemed simple minded at best. And seeing her flaunt over his late mother's beloved garden caused an onslaught of emotions within him. He looked past her at the greenery, eyes flashing through an array of feelings, anger, despair, heartache and then fondness. The garden wasn't in it's most beautiful state. Some plants were overgrown and a few weeds littered the area. The blame for that was strictly on himself, as he trusted no one to touch this area without his supervision and he has hardly had time to breathe let alone keep a watchful eye on gardeners. The fact was, this girl seemed to treasure the beauty even with it's flaws just as he did and he was immeasurably grateful for that.

Maybe their time together wouldn't be as dreadful as he had assumed.

"Perhaps not. But, this... was my mother's garden. She used to say it was our own personal Eden away from society, and upon entering you leave all worldly troubles behind. Proper manners and all." Whenever it was the three of them his mother forced her husband to forget about deadlines and work. That the garden was their time together and nothing should encroach on that. Every time it worked, at least until her passing. Now his father never visited this place and Felix couldn't blame him.

He lowered his arm to let her know it was alright for her to explore and he wouldn't criticize her for any exuberant behavior. He wouldn't dare take away the safety that the area was meant to provide.This time, he fully dismissed the bodyguard so he could leave the two of them alone and away from prying eyes.

As she enthusiastically went to the plants, he wandered the area nearby and he could feel himself soften both visibly and mentally. Just this once, allowed himself let go for a moment. He knelt down and pulled at a weed, feeling an almost vicious satisfaction as the plant was uprooted. "So you know about flowers? While I'm quite familiar with the species in here, I'm sad to say these don't particularly attract many ladybugs as we do butterflies. Would you know of a kind that does? I'm quite fond of those insects, and while I don't believe in superstition it may do good to attract a creature of luck." He couldn't stop his lips from quirking upwards, a small degree of his Chat Noir persona bleeding through. It was now clear they were going to stay in the garden for sometime.

She listened to him talk, hanging onto every word. If he would let her, she'd be in the garden near constantly. Like Tikki, she loved nature, and it was hard to find in abundance in the city. Bridgette started to explore, glancing over at Felix to see him start plucking weeds. She smiled some. Maybe he wasn't as cold as she thought. All this information she filed away for later. She was going to learn to love him for her own sanity. Hanging onto Chloe was a lost cause, and being heartbroken was exhausting.

Bridgette was inspecting some beautiful roses when Felix's words got her mind whirling. "Of course I do! Caraway, fennel, and dill work fairly well. As for flowering plants, cosmos and daisies work. They are drawn to the white cosmos especially. I can see why, they're beautiful. We had manicured gardens at my boarding school, nothing so wild and wonderful like this, but our own little haven. Every time it was pleasant I took my studies outside. It's just so much more enjoyable." With the free reign to talk she was rambling, waiting to be told to hush.

After noticing weeds intertwining with some flowering plant she didn't know, she bent and started to pluck them as well, not minding the dirt on her skirts. "You'll need ladybugs." She noted. "There's aphids all over these plants." Tikki stirred, and Bridgette tried not to cringe. Now Tikki wouldn't rest until she got a snag of those.

"Infestation? I'll put in the order immediately then." He didn't look up at her, instead continuing his task of pulling the wretched plants from the garden. The dew from the ground seeped through his pants to his knees but he payed no heed. He'd just need a change of clothes and it was easy enough to evade the others in the house, there were so very few occupants that roamed the halls. The garden began looking a bit better for every weed pulled and plant returned to it's place. The process itself was relaxing in Felix's opinion. If he had time he would see himself doing this again. But the next instance may not be anytime soon. He supposed he would have to enjoy the little time he could in this little paradise. 

It was quiet as they worked and the only time the silence broke was when Bridgette would go on about plants and whatever else popped into her head, him only giving a nod or hum to show he was listening. It was still irritating against the solitude he was used to but the one sided conversation was much more refreshing than their earlier interaction. Not to mention Plagg wiggling in his pocket that contributed to his annoyance, but a quick swat to the kwami stopped the movements. When Felix finally looked over at her, he took note of her soiled dress and scowled some. No doubt it would track inside. "Next time, I insist you-"

Unfortunately he was cut off. Plagg must have done something to influence his luck as a revenge because he found his foot getting caught on a root sending him on the ground. Felix hissed and pushed himself up on his palms, his ego bruised and embarrassment washing over him. Of all the things to happen. Even if he didn't like his bride to be he didn't want to come off as a complete imbecile. The only thing that remotely comforted him was that Plagg got squashed when he fell forward. In an effort to save face, he continued on as if he hadn't tripped, "that you wear appropriate attire when attending the garden. At the very least a change of shoes. Those will track dirt as well as rip up the ground."

By the time he spoke, she'd already stopped her weeding,  now investigating some bizarre flowering bushes that were attracting peculiar butterflies. They were beautiful but she'd never seen the type before. She gently moved her hand to attempt to get the butterfly on her finger but then Tikki bit her. She somehow held a yelp in, reaching down and pinching the kwami through her dress. Felix's words made her jump, pulling her thoughts away from the bruise that she would surely have now. She turned back towards him just in time to see him fall. Her eyes widened slightly and she was about to ask if he was alright, but when she noticed the look of embarrassment on his face she restrained. No need to make it any worse. 

Bridgette's lips quirked downwards and she narrowed her eyes, glancing down at his own filthy trousers and muddy shoes. Who was he to talk? She looked down at her own skirts and shoes. There was a bit of dirt along the bottom but nothing that would get anywhere. So long as she wiped her shoes off things would be fine, and no mud would get anywhere. Bridgette raised a brow and looked back over at him. "My dress will be fine for today. So long as I wipe my feet, no mud will track inside. If I remember correctly there's some stones and a bit of moss before the garden entrance. I would be more worried about yourself, Mister Agreste." She realized a moment too late how snappy and improper that had sounded. She cleared her throat and looked away, straightening her posture. Now she was hyper-aware of everything she said and did. The last thing she needed was Felix going to her father and telling him how improper she was. "Should we go inside now? There's a lot of the house I haven't been shown yet, and I should probably change before dinner. Will your father be joining us?" Her personality she'd shown through her rambling and snapping was gone now; replaced by the etiquette that had been forced into her mind since she was old enough to walk.

'Do this, don't do that. Speak like this, keep your back straight. Never let him know you've got anything in that bright brain of your's, Bridgette. Don't you know that men are only interested in lifeless women with nothing to them but the ability to shut up and look pretty?!' Chloe had always said that in the voice of their etiquette teacher, scolding her and pinching her sides before they'd both dissolve into giggles. Unable to help herself, she sighed softly. Chloe had made her presence permanent it seemed; demanding to be heard even when she wasn't around. 

He could only blink at her as he was completely baffled by her rapid and very sudden change in personality, but as soon as he got his wits about him, he scowled darkly. She had the gall to get angry at him then revert back into a walking china doll. He wasn't too sure if he was mad at being snapped at or her submissive demeanor. Either way, his mood was soured and he brushed himself off after standing. Straightening his jacket and holding his head high, he regarded her coldly. "Very well. I'll take you to the room so you can get changed. And no. My father won't be joining us for dinner." The fact she reminded him about his father just agitated him further. The man couldn't even bother to set aside work to meet the girl he intended to marry to his son. He briskly walked towards the garden's entrance, not bothering to turn and see if Bridgette was following. "You aren't allowed back here without my permission or my presence. Now if you will."

He kept his gaze forward as he offered his arm once again. When they were linked, they wiped off their shoes to the best of their abilities and Felix escorted her back inside. But instead of the simple questions said at the beginning of the tour or the honest rambling in the garden, the trek was encompassed by tense silence. Even Plagg went still as they went to her room, but that more than likely meant the kwami was planning a way to cause more mischief. Thankfully they met no one on their way there and when they reached Bridgette's room, Felix pulled away from her. "This room is yours. Mine is next to it. Your belongings are already here so go change and I'll do the same. When you're done I'll show the rest of the house and by then dinner will be served." With that said, Felix entered his own room and shut the door behind him. He pulled off his jacket and Plagg flew out, a cheeky grin on his face, "Aw you were warming up to her. How sickeningly adorable, thankfully you both ruined it." The cold look Felix sent him only added to his amusement. The black cat could tell this was going to be quite the adventure for his chosen.

If the past hour was any indication, she and Felix would not be getting along well. It would always be a balancing act for her. Bridgette didn't have the privilege of acting too much like herself. She didn't know Felix yet, and if he decided, he could decide that he didn't want her. Not only would she have to leave London behind, but her father would likely react in the worst way possible. Perhaps he'd even have her locked up on the pretense of her being crazy. There's also the possibility she'd have to give up life as Ladybug. A lot was riding on this marriage to Felix Agreste, and she couldn't afford to mess it up. So she kept her mouth shut, just nodding and agreeing to whatever he said. Maybe he'd hate this side of her as well. It was frustrating, not knowing. Everything felt fake to her, and she honestly just felt like crying. She didn't have Chloe, her father wanted nothing to do with her except to use her to give the family business to the Agreste line, and Felix seemed to hate her. At least, she had Tikki. 

The only good thing was the fact that her room overlooked the garden. She thanked him for the tour then shut the door, exploring the grand room. There was everything she could need; a few wardrobes, a closet, two bookshelves, a desk, a large canopy bed, a bathroom, a chest at the food of the bed, a small table... Everything. Her things were neatly stacked in one corner, waiting to be unpacked. The only thing she didn't like was how dark the room felt. She threw open the curtains and opened up the windows and the doors to the balcony. The furnature was a dark wood, and the walls had a deep purple wallpaper. Carefully, she pulled Tikki from her pocket, offering the kwami a sad smile. 

"This is home now." She murmured. She set Tikki down on the bed while she went to her things, finding her dresses. She took her overdress off with some difficulty and replaced it with a blue one. She changed her shoes as well, and went to the bathroom to refresh her hair. Bridgette hated wearing makeup, so she didn't bother reapplying. Felix probably wouldn't even notice. 

Tikki floated on over to her. "Things are going to work out just fine, Bridgette." Bridgette gave the kwami a smile, praying she was right. 

Turns out, things weren't going to work out today. Dinner was terrible. It was silent and every time she attempted to start conversation Felix shut her down. Eventually she stopped trying, picking at her food and just eating enough to be healthy. Didn't he realize that this was hard for her too? That she'd been plucked from a life she was happy in and thrown into this? Or was he too wrapped up in his own world to care? 

The only good thing about the day was patrol as Ladybug. Sneaking away hadn't been hard, and it had been easy to find Chat Noir. They met on the London clock tower, just as every other night. He had arrived before her, and as she landed, she took a moment to watch him. His stance was almost feral; hair wild and unkempt. He looked ready to pounce, his stance full of that peculiar grace cats seemed to have. She smiled some. Despite his flirting, he was a dear friend. She'd always cared for him. Somehow he'd find a way to cheer her up, he always did. Even if he himself was upset. Going by how tense his posture was, he probably was. Ladybug moved from her perch, gracefully landing just behind him. She came to stand beside him, overlooking the city in silence. 

Felix was too wrapped up in his own thoughts to notice that Ladybug had arrived. These nights of being Chat Noir were his escape. From work, from his less than perfect life, from everything. But his problems followed him this time. Once he says I do, despite what he wants or hopes for, it will limit Chat Noir. No more flirting and worse he'll never have a chance to pursue Ladybug as much as he'd like to, he couldn't commit adultery. Just how was he supposed to tell his Lady that he was engaged? To a girl who he didn't love and wasn't loved by in return no less? Was it being unfaithful if he would sneak out after dark to meet Ladybug? Or shared a bed with the girl? He wasn't with Ladybug but still. They were a team even if there was nothing between them. His fists clenched and unclenched at the thought of losing the one thing that was his and his alone because of a decision his father made. He should have guess his father would manage to do this. Strip him of his last bit of freedom and chain him to a girl who was the embodiment of everything he disliked.

He was startled out of his trance when he finally saw Ladybug next to him. Immediately those thoughts that festered in his mind were pushed back, not gone but instead muffled by his happiness at seeing his partner. The feeling of calm between the two went both ways. "My Lady. Always a pleasure seeing you." Chat Noir grinned broadly and his tail which had been flicking back and forth now slowed to a lazy sway. Some of the tension seeped away from his shoulders and he leaned forward on his cane to edge her personal space without fully intruding. Two toned green eyes examined his partner intently. He saw her own rigidity that usually wasn't there and a brow raised underneath his mask. It seemed that he wasn't the only one who had a difficult day. 

"Care to start patrol late and bask in the moonlight with me? When was the last time we spent some quality time together?" Chat purred and gave Ladybug his signature flirtatious smile. However the playful quip was issued more for her rather than him. An offer that he'd sit with her atop Big Ben and listen to her troubles if she so wished. And if not, there was the way out to brush his antics aside and continue their routine as normal. At least with the exception of doting on his Lady with twice the effort in order to erase whatever problems she was dealing with herself.

Ladybug smirked slightly as he leaned in close. She didn't even spare him a glance. Perhaps he thought her a heart breaker, or a tease, she didn't really care. She had bigger thoughts on her mind than to play into the ploy's of a mischievous kitty cat. A small smirk tugged her lips, her keen blue eyes darting over to him for a moment before looking back over the magnificent city they called home. At some point she would talk about her troubles, she needed to. Tikki had encouraged her to. If anyone could help and calm her, it was Chat Noir. Right now though... Right now she just wanted to run. Slyly she unhooked her yo-yo so that she wouldn't plummet to her death when she launched herself from the tower. She took a few steps back before giving him a huge grin. "Only if you can keep up, kitty." She gently tapped his bell before moving back a bit more before running off the edge, a happy laugh leaving her. She swung her yo-yo, catching it on something and swinging off into the night.

Effortlessly she landed on a building and took off, hopping from building to building. She noticed that Chat was right on her tail, jumping across the street to run parallel to her. Ladybug wasn't sure how long they went like that, running and leaping and swinging from building to building. She went into she felt like she couldn't go anymore. Finally she came to a stop, breathing heavily as she stood on top of a church. Without realizing, she'd run far from the Agreste estate, close to her old boarding school. She was compelled to go see Chloe, but she knew that would only cause her heart to ache. She heard Chat land behind her. 

It felt nice to push herself so hard, but now with the distractions gone and the moonlight streaming down she remembered why she had wanted to run so hard anyways. She felt him nearby, but she didn't pull her eyes from the city. 

"I'm engaged." In the silence that followed she started to ramble, needing to get it off her chest. "My finance... Doesn't seem to like me very much. I don't think he understands what's going to happen. He doesn't seem to understand that I'm just as unhappy. My father plucked me from my life, from the person I love, to put me with a miserable man who acts like a child!" All the anger from the day was coming out now. She let out a bitter laugh, tears welling in the corners of her eyes. "He's one of the most selfish people I've ever had the misfortune of meeting! You know, maybe I wouldn't feel like this if he had bothered to talk to me. Our dinner was silent, he hardly even looked my way. He treated me like the biggest inconvenience he's ever had to face." She took a few deep breaths. "I wish I had just taken your offer." She hadn't because of Chloe. Bridgette had been naive enough to believe that she and Chloe could run away together. Now it was too late. No matter how awful Felix turned out to be, she couldn't leave him. 

Chat Noir was stunned at her opening up. After their excursion he came to terms that she wasn't ready to share whatever trouble she was dealing with, yet here she was baring it all to him. The similarity of their situations was eerie though he could definitely relate to her feelings. "Seems we both missed our chance." He doubted he was ever her first choice, but he was at peace with that. Even now, if he could offer her some escape he'd do it in a heartbeat, but he was powerless in this situation just as he was powerless in his own. Matters like these were out of Chat Noir's capacity. It was infuriating, but here in the cover of night he could fully express himself and his anger. That however would come later, now was the time that he had to make his Lady smile again. "I myself am in an arranged marriage. But unlike myself, you have the charm of being you. It may not seem like it now but I assure you that this man will adore you just as everyone in London does." This is the part that will hurt. Both his Lady and him. "Running away isn't an option for us anymore." If he was honest with himself it probably never was. It was in neither of their nature. "And given the situation, you'll probably always love that other person." He certainly carried his own lingering feelings. But here he was, with his first love, giving her advice to cope with a lost love and doing his best to give her strength to pursue another. "As your partner, I know you have enough space in your heart to love more than one person. After all you manage this kitty quite well. One more childish man is nothing you can't handle." His grin was so large it hurt his cheeks. He ignored the pang in his chest at every word he spoke and instead took her hand to raise it to his lips. Placing a chaste kiss on her knuckles he mustered all his will to keep his ears from pressing against his head as he allowed the final vice to constrict on his heart. "I guarantee he will fall for you my Lady. If anyone can make it through this it's you." Chat Noir was confident that this mysterious man would come to love his Lady, and in time perhaps she would love the man back. It was her luck. Just like the miserable existence outside of being Chat Noir was his. Her good fortune was something he's always been both envious and grateful for. Now they would both have to learn to live with the choices that others set for them. He could only hope that her predicament would have a happier ending than his.

Ladybug knew, deep down, that Chat Noir was right. Running wasn't how they worked. She watched and listened, her attention now fully on him. Loving Felix would take time, but she was up for it. She wanted to. This was her life now, and she would be damned if she died before saying that she died unhappy and with love left to give. Felix would just have to accept that he was going to be nestled in her heart soon enough. She gave her heart to everyone, and he wouldn't be an exception. She knew it would hurt though, to love knowing it will likely never be returned. She had tears in her eyes as she flung her arms around him, nearly tackling him. Never let it be said that she didn't show her love in every way she could. 

"I'll love him, I'm sure. I just... I need to stop being afraid of heart break." She sighed softly, and stepped back, holding his shoulders to keep him close and facing her. "Chat Noir, promise me you'll try and love her. She's likely just as unhappy." She cupped his cheeks gently. "She probably feels like the world is on her shoulders, and she's stuck no matter what. Don't forget that we live in a man's world. If she's anything like me, she's going to stay because of her father; because if she leaves she's got nothing for her except the mad house." She leaned forward and kissed his cheek gently before taking a few steps away. "We can be patient and learn to love again." 

It would take time, but maybe Felix wouldn't despise her forever. Bridgette could love him easily enough. If she could love Chloe, she could love anyone. The whole situation hurt. She felt so stuck, so caged. There was nothing else for her in the world, not a thing of worth that belonged to her besides her body. Whoever was marrying Chat Noir was a lucky girl. Ladybug hoped things worked out for him. "You deserve to be happy, Chat." She smiled sweetly at him before looking back over the city. "I need to get back. There's something I need to do in the morning." She started to swing her yo-yo, glancing at him. "Get to know her. I'm sure you'll be surprised." She waved to him before jumping away, back towards the Agreste manor. 

She took her time, landing gracefully on the balcony and letting Tikki take away her transformation. She sighed softly and yawned, catching the kwami. "Let's go to bed, Tikki." Bridgette was up early the next morning, in a shorter dress and apron. She decided to skip breakfast, instead heading to Felix's office. She stopped before knocking, her hand hesitating. She could just go to the garden without permission. Maybe that'd be better than getting denied? Bridgette sighed and caved, knocking on the door before waiting patiently for Felix to answer.

"Give me a moment." Felix ran a hand through his hair looking at the splintered remains of his desk. Besides the scattered papers on the ground showing there was a desk that had been there, hardly anything of the structure after being hit with cataclysm the night before. It was just a testament to his anger at the situation and destruction was the only thing he could do to vent. But since everything on the streets of London were off limits, he was running out of his own things to destroy. His outing as Chat Noir tensed him up rather than provided the usual reprieve of the real world so much so, that this time Plagg hadn't offered any remark after his hissy fit and the destruction of furniture. The kwami seemed to have sensed his chosen's distress after the patrol and the two had went straight to bed after the desk's deterioration. Unfortunately this left Felix to deal with the aftermath of his own stupidity. 

At least he didn't have work that needed to be done today. Felix collected the papers and kept them in a neat stack as he headed to the door. Taking care to make sure Plagg was curled in pocket and putting the papers away, he opened the door to reveal Bridgette. He raised a brow and observed her head to toe, he had expected her to be at breakfast and he wasn't sure why she chose to show herself to him now. Immediately his Lady's words echoed in his mind. Of his intended being just as unhappy with the arrangement as he was, and him having to promise he'd try to love her. While he had given no verbal confirmation, he knew he'd end up doing as she asked. If there was anything that his upbringing taught him it was to grin and bear it, though the grinning part was left out.

He pushed back the previous feelings of resentment at the demure attitude and settled on civility when dealing with her. It was the best he could do when riding on the stress of the day before as well as the aftermath of patrol. "Yes? Is there something you need?" Well it was a start, but Ladybug had asked this of Chat Noir and it was time for Felix to deliver.

He was curt, but that was to be expected. Bridgette offered the best smile she could muster, just shy of a real one. The special, genuine smiles she gave were reserved for Chat and Chloe alone; only those who had her love. "Yes! You requested that I come ask before going into the garden. Would you mind if I did some work in it today? They told me I wasn't allowed to bring my schoolbooks and other novels with me, and my father hasn't sent anything for me to do. I'm afraid my bookshelf is a bit sparse and while I've got nothing to do and it's such a beautiful day I thought I'd tend to the garden some." She glanced down at her clothes. "I don't have any trousers, but this shouldn't drag in the mud too badly. I can take my shoes off if they get too muddy, perhaps even bring a towel down to wipe the ends of the dress." She looked up at him, rocking on her feet some. She hoped that somewhere, Chat was proud of her. She was trying. 

For a moment Bridgette racked her brain, trying to think of something more they could do, another way she could connect to Felix. 

"Perhaps we could take breakfast in the garden. I wasn't sure if you'd be joining me or not. You weren't exactly clear last night." She seemed to deflate some at the mention of the previous night, her mind flashing to the silent dinner. She stopped rocking and just like that her reality was crashing back down. Ladies didn't ramble and talk someone's ear off. She flushed lightly and glanced away before looking back up at him. "I-I'm sorry. They've always lectured me for my rambling. I don't mean to be a pest." Chloe was the only one she thought would tolerate it, much less enjoy it. She didn't expect Felix to tolerate it, no other man did.

He stared down at her and pressed his lips in a thin line. She wanted to go back to the garden? True her talking was more than necessary when it comes to simply requesting for permission but he found it less irritating than the submission of the other day after their spat. "I despise pests nor would I allow being around one. Wait while I gather some things so I can escort you." That was the closest he'd get to telling her he didn't find her rambling annoying. Felix collected his papers and gave a glance to where the desk once was, yes, he'd need another place to finish his work. Felix entered the hallway and nodded his head towards the way of the garden, "Let's go. I'll have plates sent outside to us. And next time the gardeners show I'll put in the request to see if they'd leave some equipment if you wish." 

Their way to the garden was silent with the exception of his talking to Nathalie about the arrangements for breakfast being served and placing the orders for a desk and some plants, to which he only got a raised eyebrow but no questions. When they reached the garden, he made himself comfortable on a stone bench underneath a tree, uncaring at how the morning dew still on the grass dampened the bottom of his pant legs. It was no matter, his father was out, and outside of his desk work there was nothing that demanded his presence. These next few days were scheduled to be focused primarily on becoming acquainted with his soon to be wife which meant no disturbances thankfully. 

He was hardly into his first paper when he thought back to what Bridgette had told him. Without glancing up he decided to be the first to strike the conversation, "You said before you had some novels that didn't make it here. Are there any in particular you wish to recover? I have an extensive collection myself you can rummage through." 

She took his statement as him not finding her annoying. Bridgette hoped that was a correct assumption, it'd be terribly awkward if it wasn't. "Tools would be fantastic! And I'll come up with a list of plants for the aphid problem. Besides, having ladybugs around can help with other problems as well. They're pretty too." Perhaps that was too much flattery. 

She was silent as she trailed behind Felix to the gardens, feeling Tikki eagerly shift in her inner-dress pocket. Bridgette would have to sneak her some aphids for breakfast. She was also going to have to ask Felix about sweets. Perhaps another time though. 

Once in the gardens Bridgette looked around and found a spot that would due to start work on. Thankfuly her sleeves were three-quarter lengths, so she didn't need to worry about that. She walked over and kneeled in front of it, pulling her dress out from under her legs so she could feel the damp dirt against her legs. She began to pull the weeds then, brows knit in concentration as she thought. So absorbed in her mind, she was startled when Felix spoke. 

Bridgette jumped slightly and straightened before looking over at him. "Yes, actually! I had a few books on plants, and another few on cats and insects. I can't recall the author's names right now. There were a few fiction novels as well as some history books I was quite fond of." She smiled some at him before going back to her work while she talked. "I don't think Father will have them sent. He doesn't exactly... approve. He wouldn't approve of this either." She giggled a bit, grinning to herself. Now that she'd decided to try and love him, she was letting information flow freely. Hopefully she wouldn't get into trouble. 

"I can request them being brought. The purpose of these next few days is to get 'acquainted' and make you feel 'at home' so anything that helps." He could ask under the guise of pleasing his soon to be wife. Or he could claim her possessions as his own because of their union, then give them back once he had them. Whatever would work, though judging by her statement he'd probably have to go with the latter. Idly, he wondered if his Lady would disapprove of him using his new position as suitor and husband to get what he wanted. Taking a glance over at Bridgette, he concluded that no, if he did it for the right reasons then it was okay. So long as he didn't apply that complete authority to Bridgette, his Lady would understand, or he hoped so.

He tapped his pen on the paper, reading through the papers he had before being interrupted by a maid bringing the breakfast they requested. The polished silver tray was set next to Felix on the bench, refreshments and two plates of egg, bread and bacon filled it's contents, there was even a dish of fruit and extra pastries on the side for them. No doubt their attempt to give his betrothed a warm reception from the cooking staff. He gave a nod to the servant, "Thank you. And don't worry about collecting the tray. I'll handle it." She gave a polite curtsy before leaving he and Bridgette alone again.

Picking up his drink, he took a sip then returned to his papers, the work wasn't too complicated by the look of it, only tedious. Felix took his eyes off the document momentarily to look at the wouldbe gardener, "Breakfast is here. Feel free to sit on the other side of the bench when you wish."

The suggestion at her books being brought here wasn't one Bridgette really expected. Maybe Felix offering to buy her new books, but not this. This just seemed so out of the way for him. She stood up and wiped her hands off on her apron, watching him carefully for a moment. Despite trying to open herself up, those guards she'd spent long putting up weren't going to come down so soon. Yes she was working on them, but her first thought was that Felix wanted something in return for the books. When she noticed he didn't even seem to be paying attention to her she relaxed slightly, walking over to the bench and sitting on the other side of him. "I'd really appreciate them being brought. I have all my notes written in. I'd hate to lose all of that." 

She carefully picked up the coffee and took a sip, humming softly. The warm drink soothed her throat from any irritation the pollen was starting to bring out. It tasted better than the coffee they'd served at her school. While tea was her preferred drink, she certainly didn't mind this. She carefully set it down before picking up a plate. The food was wonderful, and sooner or later she'd have to make her way to the kitchens and properly introduce herself to the chef. She didn't eat much, only the eggs, a piece of the bacon, and a pastry over the bread. She carefully set it aside, had a few more sips of coffee before taking a few deep breaths and simply looking over the garden. Bridgette usually didn't eat much, but Tikki stirring in her pocket prompted her to pick up the plate and finish off the bacon and half a pastry before she started to feel sick. 

Wincing slightly she carefully set the pastry down. Tikki would have to be happy with this. Hopefully she wouldn't start complaining about Bridgette needing to eat better or something like that. A light lunch was likely in order after this. She closed her eyes and focused on her breathing, almost forgetting Felix's presences at her side entirely. She was relaxed out here, a small smile tugging her lips. The only thing that could make it better would be to have Chloe here. 

Chloe.

Bridgette suddenly stiffened and opened her eyes, her smiling vanishing. She stood abruptly, walking to the area she'd started work on earlier. "The food is incredible. I'd like to speak with the kitchen staff before the end of the day. The kitchens in the basement, right? Or is it on the first floor? I can't quite recall if you showed me or not." She glanced up from where she was pulling weeds and over to Felix, watching him.

"First floor. But if you intend on speaking with them I should tell you they typically leave once dinner is served. After of course they finish their own meal." The staff couldn't dine with the masters of the house and had no reason to stay afterwards. Felix tore off a corner of a pastry and popped the food in his mouth. If he noticed the way Bridgette's demeanor changed he wasn't going to call her out on it. At least he didn't think it would be appropriate to. If there was anything his Lady taught him it was that every lady was entitled to her secrets. 

He'd promised his partner to put forth the effort to be kind to his intended but he wasn't sure how to incorporate those types of affections in his actions as easily as it would be for Chat to. His thoughts dwelled on a course of action until he realized he had been staring at his papers without truly processing what they said. He gave a sigh of agitation and started reread the passages describing the finances of the estate soon to be changed. Such a loathsome and tedious process. If he was a rebellious sort, he'd make his father finish the paperwork since the marriage was in fact his idea, but unfortunately he was not. It didn't help that if he didn't do it the chances of his father even bothering to pick up the papers were slim to none.

His fingers pinched the bridge of his nose, he was only a day into this situation and already he was tired of the hassles of marriage. It was only when he looked up at Bridgette that he made himself to remember her position was probably the same as his, just like Ladybug said. Unwilling, tried, irritated, but forced to make the best of it. 

Pursing his lips, he only stopped for a moment before averting his eyes from Bridgette and back to the papers in order to avoid her gaze. "I'll be heading into town today. I feel that a trip to the florist and requesting the plants there will allow a quicker order. Would you like to accompany my or just give me a list of the plants that need to be bought?" If Felix wanted the infestation dealt with and the garden looking as radiant as it had once been, he needed Bridgette's expertise. His want to go out also stemmed from the restlessness he was in as well as knowing Nathalie was swamped enough with his father's commands and why ask her to do something he could do on his own.

(...) Three months had gone by faster than Bridgette even realized. Settling into the Agreste manor hadn't been too difficult when everyone was trying their hardest to make her feel welcomed. Over the first few weeks she'd made friends with the kitchen staff, and now took her breakfast with them on the mornings she didn't dine with Felix. Her pleasure in making friends with anyone, regardless of class, had been one of the many things that made her different from her parents. They weren't fond of her habits, and had tried to get it out of her. Of course, it hadn't worked in the slightest. The future Lady Agreste had befriended every staff member in the manor, and seemed to have started to make the manor a home once again. 

Things with Felix were getting along pleasantly as well. It hadn't taken long for her to find herself starting to fall for him. She'd always known her heart was too easy to win, and yet she didn't regret anything in the slightest. Being around Felix made her happy, despite his grumpy attitude. She'd seen it though, the kindness and love that lingered underneath that grouchy thick skin. It always happened when he thought no one was looking, and perhaps that made her love him all the more. Chat Noir had been helpful and sweet, but she hadn't seen nearly enough of him. It seemed they'd both been busy as of late. 

With every up there is a downside though. Her's came with the increased severity of her nightmares. Things had started out slow. Just paranoid feelings and having trouble sleeping. After a month things had started to spiral. Nightmares came three times a week and she struggled to fall asleep, fearful they would come back. Tikki seemed worried, but there didn't seem to be anything they could do about them. So Bridgette coped, getting less sleep than she should, but able to deal with it well enough. It was one of the mornings following her nightmare nights that she went down early to the kitchen, sitting up at the breakfast bar and munching on the food they so graciously gave her while she thought. Felix was always busy working, and she hated seeing him so stressed. It'd been a few days since they'd had any time with each other. Something had come up every breakfast, lunch, and dinner. So, it was time for an intervention. Working that much couldn't be healthy. 

So, after his maid came to tell her that he'd eaten, she went to his office. The door had been left ajar, so she let herself in, making her presence known by clearing her throat. She made it a habit to sneak him out to do things about once a week, so really, when it hadn't happened in two, he should have expected it by now. Especially since it hadn't happened in two weeks. He seemed not to realize that she was here, too engrossed in the papers in front of him, that adorable look of focus on his face. Bridgette walked over and stood beside him, carefully moving the papers away from him, sitting on the edge of his desk. Her fingers closed around his hand. "Felix, you've cancelled eating with me every day this week." She pouted out her lip. "Clearly it's to do this, and I'll have no more. You looked like you've aged a year and it's just been a few days." She reached up and brushed her fingers along his face before tucking his bangs back behind his ear. "Come on, let's go do something. If you don't get out of this office you're going to end up like your father." Over the past few months, she'd learned the difficult balance when discussing Felix's father. This usually worked. It seemed to make him realize that, if nothing else, he should leave the office for her benefit.

Already tired blue gray eyes blinked in confusion, surprised by the absence of paperwork and numbers in his vision with it's replacement instead being the vision that would be his wife. It just went to show how truly immersed he was in the work and how little he seemed to realize time escaped him. He only sighed and tilted his head minutely into her touch, no different than a cat would when being pet, listening to her speak. When he first started to notice he liked the affection and being touched, he insistently blamed Plagg and his feline influence. But as days went on he came to terms that there was just something comforting in the gestures and he'd very much like to keep them rather than say something to make them stop. 

Unfortunately, talk of his father easily snapped him out of the lull he had been drifting into. "I would rather not skip our dining together if I could help it but there is a deadline I have to meet you know." The arguing was halfhearted at best as even he knew he was tired of the seemingly endless stream of papers. "Then there had been a mistake in the first set of work, changing everything else that follows so that will all have to be redone..." He continued on, more muttering his to do list to himself than explaining why he couldn't leave to Bridgette. It wasn't until he felt tiny claws poke his leg through his pant pocket that he stopped what he was saying in favor of looking up at Bridgette. With both her and Plagg, who always gives him an earful when working, voicing their concerns, he knew it would be futile to try and get out of it. And considering his own want to leave, it wasn't too difficult of a choice to make, the threat of becoming a recluse like his father was also all the more motivation to leave. 

So rather than forcing a reason to stay, Felix nodded his head and the corners of his lips to twitch upwards in a small smile despite his eye roll, "I suppose it is time for me to get some air and take you out. Heavens knows we haven't given the guard and Nathalie a good scare." While he cared deeply for the assistant and bodyguard, it was nice not to feel so pressured and on constant vigilance. His sneaking out with Bridgette gave him some of the same feelings of freedom he gets when transformed. Thankfully the two seemed to understand their need to get out since the couple usually get a stern talking to as opposed to being ratted out to his father if caught. So Nathalie and Gorilla allow these transgressions to happen even if they have their own concerns.

Felix stands up and stretches, feeling and hearing his spine pop from his lack of movement earlier.  "I'll leave a notice for Nathalie on the off chance that she comes looking for us." He shot her an amused look before making and signing the note and setting it on his desk. Hopefully they would be back before anyone noticed they were gone but better to be safe than sorry. With the warning in place, Felix walked around the tabletop and took Bridgette's hand to go, only turning to shut the door behind them, "As the mastermind behind this venture do you have any place in particular you wish to go?"

Felix's response to her touch would have been missed to an untrained eye. Over the past few months Bridgette had learned quite a bit about Felix and his body language. He was quiet and reserved, and it took a lot of persistence to get where she was now. Bridgette had learned the difference between what was overstepping and what was welcome (two lines that were very hard to decipher). As someone who enjoyed physical contact and craved it, it had taken awhile to settle herself into this. The last thing she wanted was to push him away on accident. So once she got the 'okay' to do it, she gently played with his hair, twirling the light gold locks around her slender fingers. 

"If you need a reason to enjoy a meal with me you could always say it's because we need to plan that party." While she wasn't exactly eager for the engagement party, both her family and Felix's were so high-profile that it was practically required. Nathalie had brought it up and Bridgette had agreed without compliant simply because she knew that this was expected. At first she'd been nervous about the whole ordeal, but with Felix close by everything would surely be fine. There was no way that the her family would be invited anyways. Well... Bridgette hoped as much. She doubted that she'd get a chance to look over the guest list to make sure anyways. "Deadlines aren't the world, Felix. Your associates would be understanding enough for you to at least eat dinner with your soon-to-be wife." Bridgette had no way of knowing for certain though, men could be just as unpredictable as women. 

Felix agreed without any further convincing. Not only that but he smiled, smiled! Bridgette beamed and jumped up, waiting patiently. While she doesn't see the use in leaving a note, she's sure that their guardians appreciate it. Once he took her hand she tugged him ahead slightly, a loud laugh leaving her. She turned back to look at him, giving the biggest grin she could muster. "I have no idea! The world is our oyster, Felix." She giggled a bit before turning back to see what was ahead of her so she didn't fall flat on her face. "If you wanted to leave the estate we could go to the nursery and pick out some more plants, or the bookstore... "She hummed. "Or we could stay here and hide somewhere in the manor. Or we could tend the gardens." She slowed her pace and bumped her side against his, looking up at him once more. "Really we could do anything."

"Without deadlines, nothing would get done in time and you know it. Not everyone can be graced with the ability to finish their work in an hour and have it be both completed as well as excellent quality." Honestly, it really wasn't fair that she could and he couldn't. But he supposed opposites attract, they had managed to make it this far in the relationship even with the shaky start they had after all. The two of them proved to be quite the pair. If someone were to tell him before they'd met, even in that first week, that he'd enjoy the company of a bubbly young lady to the point where he'd allow her to come into his office and openly speak her mind as well as touch him, he would have openly scoffed in their face. Looks like time proved him wrong, and gladly so.

He gave a small chuckle as he followed her, the suggestions bouncing back and forth from her were all pretty interesting to consider. "Let's do the nursery first, we need flowers finalized for the party and no we aren't going there just for business." She wouldn't be happy with him if he went from one work state of mind to another. But since they were already going to go there might as well. "We can pick up some more plants and come back to tend the garden. It's coming along nicely." Felix still kept his mother's place under lock and key, no one really outside of the two of them was allowed spend extended periods of time in there. And in regards to addressing it, he tried to keep it in an objective light, otherwise he'd fall prey to those pesky emotions he needs to get rid of. But he supposed this was much better than how it had been, the garden wasting away along with the occupants within it. 

"However we should talk about the party. Do you have a dress for the occasion? The day is soon upon us." Of course this brought thoughts of his own outfit, which of course led to another train of thought regarding the event itself. Planning, catering, staff, and soon enough he had the same furrow in his brow he usually did when he began thinking too deeply about a subject. Felix, still silent as his mind buzzed with thoughts, escorted her out of the mansion before getting the transportation needed to go through town and to the nursery.

She let out an airy giggle, giving him a large grin. "It's not my fault that I have all the luck, Felix." Bridgette, of course, had no idea how close to true that was. "I wish you would let me help you. What's the point of being educated if you dont' get to use it at all?" She was whining a bit, however she didn't really care. It was boring without schoolwork. Bridgette didn't think she'd ever miss doing essays and assignments, and yet here she was. The garden helped, after all there was plenty of work to be done, but it wasn't enough for her. Perhaps getting a few more books and an art tablet of some sort would help. 

Felix, of course, brought up party plans. She pouted lightly, linking her arm with his. "You better mean that, Felix Agreste. This is supposed to be relaxing for you." Bridgette rested her head on his shoulder slightly as they walked. It was comfortable being with him. She felt safe which, really, was the most important thing. The talk of the garden made Bridgette grin. "It's beautiful, isn't it? By the time of the party it'll create an amazing view." She didn't suggest people going into it, Felix probably wouldn't take too kindly to that. 

The scowl took up it's place on his face before Bridgette even had a chance to answer. She stopped him, stepping in front of him and resting her hands on his chest. She offered a patient smile before lightly fixing his tie, brushing her hands over the lapels of his outfit. She straightened his house crest pin before sighing softly and looking up at him, keeping her hands pressed against his heart. "Felix, my love, everything will be fine. I'm getting a dress tailored this week. It's going to be red, it looks very pretty. I've been discussing food with the kitchen and we almost have something for you to approve. For flowers I was thinking something simple for the fall weather, lots of greenery and oranges and reds; I drew something out, you'll like it." She gently cupped his cheeks so he would look at her, being proper went out the window after she'd gotten used to Felix. "Decorations are being taken care of as well. Take today off, let that busy, beautiful mind of your's rest. Promise me?" She smiled adoringly at him.

Felix felt his face flush at the closeness and even more so at her expression, when has anyone ever looked at him like that, "Yes, a day of would be good for us. It sounds like everything's been handled regardless." Be still his beating heart if she didn't know exactly what to say to him to get him to relax and let go. Reaching up to grasp her hands, he moved them up to brush his lips against the tips of her fingers, nodding once in compliance to her request that he stop thinking.  It was a wonder how he managed to get her into his life when it usually consisted of nothing but bad luck on his end. He pushed back the pessimistic thoughts of wondering when this will inevitably end and have to savor this, enjoy her company while he could.

"And the garden is coming along splendidly, no more aphids and even with the cooler weather settling in it's holding up strong." No doubt the amount of care both he and she put into the area was worth every speck of dirt on their clothing and callous on their otherwise aristocrat hands. He didn't think anyone at the party would appreciate the work that was done in order to get the garden to it's current state and much less at the fact it was the two of them contributing to the hard labor.

When they finally made it out to the nursery he found that the air was still crisp even with the sun overhead on this rare day that London wasn't overcast with clouds. The feline within him purred as he soaked in the warmth of the sun's rays and Felix felt himself feeling immensely better than when he had been sitting in that damned chair in his office for who knows how long. "I must say your idea of getting out of the house is already turning out to be a success. We can send the plants back and walk to the nearest book store if you feel up to it."

A soft blush rose to her cheeks at his gentle kisses. He had a way of surprising her with little, unexpected things. Bridgette adored it. As they walked she kept her hand in Felix's, not wanting to stray too far from him. His closeness had a soothing effect on her, whisking away the last bits of nightmare clinging to her mind. "During the fall when the seasonal plants hibernate for the winter will be a good time to finish up the cleaning. There's still weeds in that back section, and I'm sure we've missed some. We'll get to it all before next spring though. Probably even before the winter really sets in." Bridgette smiled broadly. "It's going to be beautiful next spring." 

"I'd love to! I've read through the ones we purchased last time we went." Bridgette kept her hand in his, a broad smile on her face. She tugged him over to some flowering plants, carefully touching a few of the petals. "Would you rather have flower arrangements or potted plants for the party? I think they'd last longer, and the house could always use a bit more to cheer it up... " Bridgette felt a frown work onto her face. There was something about the house that just didn't feel right. Too empty? Too cold? She wasn't sure. Without really thinking on it she snapped the petal, jumping slightly when she felt her hand slip. She felt Tikki stir under her skirts and she carefully pressed into Felix's side, wondering if she should tell him about the dreams. 

Bridgette glanced up at him. He had enough to worry about without Bridgette adding something that was probably nothing on top of it all. Nightmares weren't unusual when one was anxious. There probably wasn't a thing to worry about. "I think we should get something bright. Like mums," she murmured, gently tugging him over to the plants. She gave a shake of her head, forcing a smile and turning to face him properly. "What do you want?" 

His lips pursed as he looked over her, having felt the small jolt accompanied by the small ramble. Had she been upset about something she obviously would have told him, right, or perhaps it was her own nerves about the party manifesting itself into this jumpy nature. Regardless he decided not to think too much on it, if Bridgette was upset about something she would make it known and confide in him, or at least he hoped so. Instead he chose to gently squeeze her hand and overlook the plants she had picked out with an inquisitive eye. "Yes, something that would last longer would provide dual purpose as both decoration and decor."

There was a slight intermission where Félix spoke to the florist to get the arrangements ready for transport before he turned his attention back to Bridgette. Now was the time he was sure she'd appreciate, bringing the main focus on the garden. "And beauty is fleeting, doesn't mean we shouldn't anticipate their future bloom. Perhaps plan for a bright plethora of colors in the spring." The area itself was returning to it's elegance and refinement however, with the cold weather upon them it couldn't be certain that the plants would stick around. On the positive side, it was as she said, it would be easier to maintain the grounds itself.

The image of the sprouting garden in the spring brought a small smile to his face. Reaching out with his free hand he plucked a flower from it's place and moved it to rest behind Bridgette's ear. "In fact a splash of color would do nicely." Brighten up the house, the outside and hopefully put some cheer in Bridgette's mood. While he wouldn't address her change of demeanor it didn't mean he couldn't do what he could to help.

As glad as she was for his comfort, Bridgette couldn't help but feel like she'd done him a disservice by not telling him what was troubling her. Later she would have to talk to Tikki about it. The choice was such a hard one to make. After all, he was precious to her, and she didn't want to burden him without cause. On the other hand, the nightmares were getting worse, and it was only a matter of time before the lack of sleep would become apparent in the way she lived her life. Surely Chat Noir would notice it as well, how tired his Lady seemed. They'd be seeing each other again tonight to do a patrol. Hawkmoth seemed to be going dormant for now. It worried Bridgette; surely that meant that he was up to nothing but evil. 

For now though, she put those thoughts from her mind. Right now she was here with Félix. She simply wanted to enjoy her time with him. 

"The garden was beautiful this summer. I can't wait to see it when it's just blooming. I bet it's something special." Bridgette knew that Lady Agreste had taken great care when planning and constructing the garden -- she'd seen as much from her own work in it. This spring would bring bright colors and new hope and new life to the dreary manor. It seemed that in the year's since Lady Agreste's death, all the wonders that lay hidden inside the Agreste Estate drained out, leaving two miserable men in a miserable house. Bridgette wanted to do her part to fix it. 

The gentle brush against the side of her head brought Bridgette back to the present and out of her thoughts. A grin tugged her lips upwards. "Something with a fall theme of course -- can't clash with the leaves. In the spring I'm thinking we plant lots of seasonsals with bright purples and pinks," she mused gently. Her fingers curled around the edge of his coat. She was sure they were being watched, they always were. Hopefully people would mind their business, or only assume the truth. She and Félix were just two young adults in love. There was nothing wrong with that. 

"Shall we go to the bookstore now? I trust the nursery to arrange something fitting with what we've chosen."

(...)

It was later the same day and while all the errands wore against him, he still looked forward to patrol. A plate of cheese was set out for his kwami and Félix was left with his thoughts. He tapped a finger on his desk, trying to make sense of Bridgette's behavior earlier. He was fairly certain that something had been bothering her, be it the party or perhaps getting cold feet from the wedding? The whole thing made him uneasy, and he wasn't so sure as he'd previously been in the fact she would confide in him. Before he could think too deeply on the matter a satisfied burp interrupted his thoughts. Félix gave an impressed look to the small cat before calling forth his claws. 

In a flash of green lightning Chat Noir stood in the room of the study, stretching as he let out a content sigh at the transformation change. It didn't matter how much time passed, he'd forever feel comfort in donning the mask and allowing all expectations to fall around him, though he did find a similar feeling in his recent change of company. He looked down at the silver ring resting snugly near his knuckle, a sharp contrast to the polished black cat head on his opposite hand. It was almost time yet there was no real feeling of trepidation, rather the want to embrace it. Nodding to himself and making his mind up at the decision, he left the ring on and left the room via the window making sure to carefully sneak out and lock the entrance behind him. 

The air was cool as he leaped on the rooftops, making his way towards the signature meeting spot of he and Ladybug.  It didn't take long to scale the clock face, coming to the uppermost walkways in search of his partner, "My Lady? are you here yet?" 

[thcmorrigan]

Purpose: A reply to a prompt (”something to break my character’s heart”) Character: Eden Style: Third person, present tense Written: February 2016

                              “You’re different,” says Teddy.

It’s not vicious, it’s not an attack, but Lamb recoils like Teddy’s fist is responsible for the bruise on his cheek—the blue one, the yellow one, the one that made his mother shake her head and cry ( later, when he was in bed; he pretended not to hear her ).

Lamb wants to laugh and roll his eyes and say hey, man, don’t be such a drama queen. He wants to smile that grin of his; the one that most everyone in Paulden says lights up the room, the town, their day. But he can’t, because he’s different. There’s no more sunshine in him, not right now. He’s full of clouds, of rain.

So, he sighs. You’re right, he says. He leaves, then. He sits in his car with his hands on the wheel, not going anywhere. Nowhere, nowhere at all. Hopeless, all of it.

                              “You’ve changed,” says River.

It’s more a sigh than a statement, something she says one day over lunch while picking at her peanut butter and jelly sandwich. She’s not looking at him, but at her hands, watching the way they tear and they tear. Lamb can’t bear to look at his own—not at the bruise-covered knuckles, from the wall he looked at with such hatred he had to hurt it ( somehow, he was the one who ended up aching ).

Lamb doesn’t deny it, because she’s right. He’s not the boy he so recently was. Inside him dwells an almost-anger, the kind he thinks he should’ve felt when his father died, the kind he should’ve felt when he found out about Bentley. He didn’t then, but he does now. It’s all he feels some moments—a breath in, anger out. It scares him. He hates it. But he’s not in control anymore.

So, he sighs. You’re right, he says. He eats, then. He pokes at his salad with a plastic fork, not going anywhere. Nowhere, nowhere at all. Hopeless, all of it.

                              “You’re not the guy I used to know,” says Topher.

It’s the first time someone’s been angry at him, instead of sad. His voice lashes out like a whip, drawing blood. Lamb touches his cheek, seeking it out. ( He wants to pull his fingers away, tinged with red. He wants to know that he can still bleed. ) But his hand comes away clean. All he does is make his cheek throb. ( If only he hadn’t begged for it, for the kiss of knuckles on his bones. ) So his fingers linger, forcing himself to deal with the pain.

Lamb’s brows furrow, his lips pinch, his fingers curl into fists. But he doesn’t have anything to say. Nothing important, at least. Nothing that’s going to stop his worrying, ease his mind. Most of the words out of his mouth these days are shots; brutal, short, angry. An effort to scare people off, instead of holding them close; to make people leave him alone, to make them not depend on him. He hopes that no one wants from him ever again.

So, he sighs. You’re right, he says. He writes, then. He pretends to do his math homework, not going anywhere. Nowhere, nowhere at all. Hopeless, all of it.

                             “You don’t smile anymore,” says Campbell.

It’s true. His mouth is always tight, downturned. Nothing escapes it, nothing but words he instantly regrets—the ones he runs from as soon as they hit the ground. But he can’t smile, not now, not yet. Fatigue weighs him down, bringing his mind to a precipice of something dark and terrifying and oh so tantalizing. So he frowns and he stares into the abyss and he wonders what would happen if he fell. Would it hurt? Would he care? He dangles a leg over the side and he wonders.

Lamb nods and Lamb sighs. His hands in his hair, braiding it the way he taught. And Campbell looks at him in the way people look at a kid who’s lost a father; with pity, with sadness, with regret. Of what? Of the lifetime of memories his father’s going to miss out on? Of his bruised knuckles, his aching face, his downturned lips? Lamb avoids his gaze, pretends it doesn’t weigh heavy on his shoulders.

So, he sighs. You’re right, he says. He frowns, then. He undoes the braid with shaking fingers, not going anywhere. Nowhere, nowhere, nowhere. Hopeless, hopeless, hopeless.

                              “You’re quiet,” says Jonah.

It’s been silent around him. He hasn’t touched his guitar in weeks, hasn’t sung in days. It doesn’t feel right. His voice echoes out of a hollow chest, and he’s reminded of how incomplete he is. The bits and pieces that he’s missing, that he’s given throughout the years. Those parts of his heart that belong to his mother, to Bentley, to Chuck, to his dead and rotted father. He misses them, the pieces. He wonders what he would be like if he had them. Would he be better, would he be worse?

Lamb doesn’t know. But he cares. It consumes him, some days. The thought of what he could be, if he weren’t him. There’s no room for song, for lightness, when he yearns to be someone else; someone who doesn’t sing, doesn’t dance, doesn’t smile for no good reason and laugh at anything and everything. Jonah strums his guitar, hums a familiar tune under his breath. ( Chuck’s song, Lamb’s song, the kazoo song. ) But Lamb doesn’t reciprocate.

Instead, he sighs. You’re right, he says. He’s silent, then. He says nothing, he’s not going anywhere. Nowhere at all. He’s hopeless.

                              “It’s him, isn’t it?” asks Bailey.

It’s him, but it’s not. He’s not the one that bruised him, that threw his fists against that wall. But Lamb nods, because it’s him. It’s how much he cares for him, how much he wants him to be safe and alive and happy. It’s driving him insane, up the fucking wall, off the tracks. He’s barely holding himself together, and everyone can see it.

Lamb sighs, sinks low in his seat. Bailey drums on the table with pencils. It’s fast, too fast. It makes Lamb want to untie his hair, to move like he doesn’t have the weight of the world dragging him down. But he does, so he takes Bailey’s pencil. He holds it, thumb pressing down on its bright yellow side. He could snap it. Just because.

Instead, he tosses it back. A mirthless grin mars his features. He leaves.

                              “Who did this to you?” asks Chuck.

No one, bubbles past his lips. But it’s wrong, it’s all wrong. Lamb knows Chuck wouldn’t let it go. And when his fingers cup his jaw, when his hand forces Lamb’s head up and up and up, until the harsh light throws everything into sharp relief, he knows he has to tell the truth.

“Bentley,” he says. “I made him do it.”

Because he poked and he prodded and he mocked ( I let him fuck me all he wants he doesn’t even need to ask I’ll ride him if he just looks at me right I don’t care I think I love him ) until Bentley let one fly, until he snapped Lamb’s head back and made him see stars. But he’d smiled, for the first time in days.Thanks, he said. And then he’d sat in his car, going nowhere, smiling and laughing and ignoring the tears falling down his face.

But Chuck’s looking at him, and Lamb’s furious. He pushes himself away, wrenches his face from Chuck’s grasp.

“Don’t look at me like that!” he yells.

Like what?

“Like I can fix you!”

The words tear out of him, ferocious and unforgiving. And he hates himself for it—he’s never hated anyone before, not even Bentley, but he feels it, white hot in his chest—but he can’t stop. He has so much to say, so much to be angry about. Because no one ever lets him be angry.

“Because I can’t, Chuck, don’t you see?” He’s quiet now, hoarse voice scraping out of his throat. “You don’t want to be fixed, you want to hurt and hurt and hurt, until you die, right? But you still look at me with all this hope, like I’m going to be the one that can break through and get you to stop. I can’t, though, I can’t. Your walls are too high, you build them up every day, and you make me feel like shit when I can’t climb over them.”

He’s crying now, fat globes of water running down his face.

“Because you don’t want me to, right? You want to kill yourself and you want me to watch.” He flushes, embarrassed, ashamed. “And I’m so angry—I’m furious—because there’s nothing for me to do butwatch. I could tell you I loved you and hope that meant something, but it won’t, will it? I could hold you back from the edge, but you’ll just take me down with you, won’t you? You could give less of a shit about me, right?”

He drags his hands over his cheeks, trying to hide how they gleam.

“I don’t like the person you make me,” he says, “but I don’t like being without you. Because, sometimes, I like the way you look at me. You make me feel like I’m special, like I’m incredible and brilliant and astounding, someone worthy of being looked at like that.”

He takes a big, deep, shuddering breath. He scrubs at his face, he brushes his hair from his face.

“But I don’t know how much longer I can watch you kill yourself. It’s killing me too, you know that, right? It eats away at me. Every night, wondering whether I’m going to see you the next day, or if Jimmy’s gonna call and tell me well, he’s finally done it.”

He looks to Chuck, dark gaze on his face.

“You see that, don’t you? You know you’re killing me.”

And Lamb knows that he’s going to let him do it, as surely if Chuck were the one wrapping his hands around Lamb’s throat, if Chuck were the one squeezing his last breath from his lungs.

And what a wonderful way to go, don’t you think? Staring into the eyes of the man he loves, knowing that what’s ahead can’t be worse than what he’s doing.

“I forgive you, though. I’ll always forgive you.”