#do you think he ever wishes he could leave flowers/visit his grave

[gnawingonleonsbicep]

hello hello, based off of the newest ask about leon becoming obsessed with luis’s colors and jewelry, i may add my personal headcanon that leon found luis’s rings in his pockets after the mission (ada) and he wears them the exact way Luis wears them and he tends to rub them/fidget with them when he feels anxious/had a near death experience. I also think that he would buy a wedding band too and wear it as a necklace as a symbol of his perceived failure and lost love.

RAAAGHH I HATE (love) YOUR GENIUS UGH.

Piggybacking off of that, do you think Leon ever gets flowers on the date Luis died? Or that he has the date he met him engraved on something?

OH I HATE RHEM SO MUCH ☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️

[sashaisready]

Since You've Been Gone: Chapter 3

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Series Masterlist

After a regrettable first meeting in the cemetery, you discover that you have something in common with a certain member of the Avengers. Unfortunately, you can't choose your neighbours, even in death.

(Setting is approx. post TFATWS)

Hi all, sorry for the delay with this – I ran out of steam a little with this story so I’ve decided to leave it as a mini series. Maybe I’ll come back to it in future and expand but for now I’ve run out of road and am lacking inspiration in where to take it – so this will be the final part. Thanks for reading! As always, reblogs and comments are appreciated.

You sat within the safe walls of your apartment, watching the rain batter the windows outside. It had been raining all day, far heavier than the city was used to at this time of year. Thank god you’d been working from home today, commuting would’ve been a bitch. You peered outside to watch the small flood in the parking lot beneath your window. Water steadily rose as it licked the bottom of car tyres, and you prayed that would be the worst of it.

You’d been anxious all day as you watched it get worse out there, watched the puddles spread and the flower baskets soak. You kept thinking about the cemetery, how the grave might be faring in these conditions. The hardy stone would be alright of course, but what about the candle holder? The ornaments? The flowers?

It would all probably be fine, normally bad weather did little else but move a few things around at the gravesite…but you couldn’t remember the last time it was this bad. It made you nervous thinking about it as the wind picked up.

It wasn’t like you could go check it out now, driving in this mess would be a nightmare and a death wish.

You moved away from the window and made yourself a cup of herbal tea as you tried to think about something else. Anything else.

So, you thought of Bucky.

You weren’t really sure how it had happened, how he had weaved his way into your head. Initially he had just been the guy at the cemetery, the one you tiptoed around after you’d inadvertently pissed him off that first time you met. He was there doing his thing; you were there doing yours. Sure, he was handsome. But you hadn’t really given him much thought beyond that. Although you had thought it was nice to have some actual flesh and blood company out there for a change – even if he was just as quiet as the permanent residents of the cemetery.

But ever since the incident with that obnoxious man with the phone a few days ago, he’d been creeping in more and more. You didn’t know why; you barely knew him. But he often popped into your head when you least expected it. His big blue eyes…the slight poutiness to his lips….the way his hair framed his face-

A loud crack of thunder shook you from your thoughts.

You winced as you sipped your tea, flinching at the lightning bolt that followed. The weather was kicking up a gear.

You turned away from the window, taking brief comfort in the warmth of the mug in your hands. Your mother used to say there was no point worrying about things you couldn’t control; they’d still happen regardless of how you felt about it. Which was true…but you could never brush things off in same the breezy way that she always had. You often thought she’d have something similar to say about you visiting them. ‘You should be out there living! Not worrying about us! We aren’t going anywhere!’ you could practically hear in your head. Although sometimes it was hard to remember how her voice sounded. And you knew it would only get harder to hear it as time continued its relentless march…

You were sure everything would be fine.

…But you’d go visit the cemetery the second the weather improved. Just to be sure.

🍂

The rain continued all night. Your sleep was broken and stolen by the continuous thunder. Frequent lightning flashes had illuminated your entire bedroom and forced you awake each time you had drifted off. Even without that going on, you weren’t sure if you would’ve managed to rest, the anxiety churned and churned in your stomach as you worried about what you’d find when you got to the cemetery. At least it was the weekend, and you didn’t have to drag yourself into work in this state.

Logically, you knew you were overreacting. It wouldn’t come as a shock if anyone had told you that. Your parents would not be disturbed by the rain, their stone was built to withstand far more than some rough wind and water. Everything else at the site didn’t matter in the big scheme of things – some flowers, a few ornaments – nothing expensive, nothing irreplaceable.

But you’d put so much effort into maintaining it.

You hadn’t been able to control your parents’ deaths, but you could control their gravesite. Not the weather of course – but you could maintain it, bring flowers for it, keep it nice and neat. Grief often meant chaos, but this was something orderly and manageable that you could oversee.

Most of the time, anyway.

You woke up feeling groggy, almost like a hangover, but were relieved to see the rain had finally stopped. You rushed through your morning routine, showering, dressing and then shovelling down breakfast, practically running out of the door with your car keys in hand.

The drive over was tense, the anxiety heavy in your belly like a stone as you got closer to finding out what awaited you.

You parked up and dashed through the cemetery, hugging your coat close to your body as you zipped closer to your section. You were disheartened to see a few branches had fallen off trees along the way, petals from different flowers strewn across the grass. It didn’t fill you with confidence.

As the grave came into your eyeline, you were surprised to see Bucky already there - hunched over and moving rapidly. You couldn’t work out what he was doing from that distance.

As you drew closer, you realised he was crouched over your parents’ grave. You stiffened, unable to grasp what was going on.

He must’ve sensed you coming as he suddenly stood up and turned to face you. His large body stood like a shield between you and the grave as you tried to peer past him. You could see the concern written all over his expression.

“Hey, hey…it’s okay…but…” he warned gently, his blue eyes somehow still intense but softer than you’d ever seen them.

You attempted to manoeuvre him out of the way, stressed now as your heart pounded in your chest. What was he trying to keep from you? Of course you were fruitless, it was like trying to move a brick wall. He grabbed your arm with his gloved hand and held it tightly, but not painfully, to still you. You were surprised at the swell of comfort his touch brought, but you were too worked up to really let it calm you.

“There’s been some damage from the storm…but it’s okay…” he told you cautiously.

“Just let me see…” you practically hissed, your eyes welling with tears.

He sighed in defeat and reluctantly stepped aside, dropping the hold from your arm.

You gasped as he revealed the grave. The flowers were ruined, ripped apart by the storm and strewn about, countless petals littered across the plot. The little vase you’d kept them in had fallen in the wind and cracked against the headstone, shards splintered along the glass. The candle holder had met a similar fate, the ornaments no longer resembled what they had originally. The whole thing was a complete mess. Worse than you had imagined.

“Oh!” you whispered in shock as you knelt over the debris, not even sure how to start cleaning up this mess. Your heart sank entirely. You knew it was an overreaction, but it almost felt like you’d let your parents down somehow. Even though none of it was your fault, and they surely wouldn’t care even if they’d been here. You picked up the broken candle holder and held it up futilely, as if it would somehow magically come back together.

“I…I have some garbage bags in my car. I’ll get one,” Bucky said quietly.

He disappears, although you barely notice. You’re back on your feet again, your eyes flitting over to the Barnes’ plot. The flowers Bucky had previously laid against the stones were wrecked just like yours, but that was the extent of the damage. That’s because he was sensible and didn’t cover the graves in stupid, breakable trinkets like you did.

You felt a wave of self-loathing wash through you and found yourself unable to look at the mess any longer. You stomped away quickly; your eyes squeezed shut. You practically ran back to your car and started the ignition before you fully knew what you were doing. Suddenly you had driven home, and you were back at your apartment. You managed to fight back the tears until you were home and safely behind closed doors, embarrassed to be crying over something so silly.

After some time had passed and you wiped your eyes, you had a horrible realisation of Bucky’s last words to you – he was going to get a garbage bag for you! And you’d run off! God, he must think you’re a total freak. Mentally unstable. Or incredibly rude, at the very least.

You sighed, taking a deep breath. No more of this. Time to put on your big girl pants and woman up. Bucky was trying to help, and you’d run away like a spooked rabbit. Seeing the grave in that state was upsetting, yes, but it was fixable. There would always be more flowers and more candles. Like you’d already told yourself, your parents weren’t exactly going to be disturbed by a little rain.

You’d had your little wallow, but action was the best solution.

You checked the time. Bucky would be long gone by now, but maybe you could leave him a little note apologising for rushing off. You felt embarrassed about how you’d behaved, trying to push by him to get to the grave when he was only trying to help. You felt like you were always fumbling, always doing the wrong thing in front of him. But then…you felt like that in front of a lot of people.

You grabbed your kit plus a few extra supplies and headed back to the cemetery. You knew yourself well enough to know that staying home and doing something else would only mean your mind drifted back to it later. Get it done, then you can move on.

You drove back over to the cemetery, better prepared this time. Or so you thought. As you approached the grave, you certainly weren’t prepared for what you found.

“Bucky?” you asked with disbelief.

He was still there, hunkered over your parents’ plot. As he stood you gasped, the candle holder was in his hand – now completely intact.

“I always keep superglue in the trunk of my car so…” he trailed off sheepishly.

As he stepped aside, he revealed the similarly repaired vase at his feet, and one of the ornaments. You just stared at them open-mouthed.

“I couldn’t save them all, I’m sorry,” he continued, “but at least some of it is salvaged. And I put aside the broken stuff for you in case you wanted it as a keepsake or something”.

“You…you did all that?” you whispered, “for…me?”

He shrugged again like it was nothing. “Well…yeah. I know how much this place means to you…and I was a total jerk the first time we met. Walt up at the office told me last week that you had taken care of my parents’ graves, but I’d just assumed it was the staff here. And here was me thinking you were messing around with it. I was out of line. So, the least I could do was…” he nodded over to the recently repaired objects.

You were unable to hold back your smile, the grin stretching across it lighting up your entire face. You rushed forward, enveloping Bucky in a bear hug. “Thank-you,” you whispered to him.

He stumbled slightly in surprise at the sudden contact but caught himself and let out a light-hearted chuckle, “yeah…you’re welcome”.

He hugged you back, and the two of you just stayed like there for a while. You both allowed yourselves a moment of comfort in the other, both orphans, both grieving in different ways and mourning different lives, but still connected by bereavement and feeling untethered after losing your roots and foundations. The…friendship, could you say? That had developed between the two of you over these last couple of months had been a surprise, but it was certainly welcomed.

You both pulled apart, slightly embarrassed, when you spoke again.

“I’m sorry I got upset…it’s dumb I know, they’re just silly stuff. You didn’t have to do all of that…”

“No,” he cut you off. “It’s not dumb. It’s important to you, you put a lot of work into this place. It’s okay to be sad about it”.

You nodded, smiling at him. It was such a relief that he just got it. He understood.

“Would you…uh…” he cleared his throat, “…maybe wanna get a cup of coffee with me, sometime? Maybe meet somewhere outside of a cemetery. With living people. You know..if you want to…”

You beamed ear to ear, “yeah. Yeah, I do want to”.

THE END

[vinaxxo]

Can you write about Bihan having feelings for the reader but doesn't know how to ask her out on a date?

What a cayutie patootie idea! Here you go, hope u like it 🩵

~ KISS THE GIRL (there’s no kissing I’m just referencing the song)

Bi han was never one to have crushes, which was why he was frustrated and baffled by the slightest increase in his heart rate around you.

You’d been a part of the Lin Kuei’s special forces for 3 months, training hard and keeping your own under the Grandmaster’s direct command. While ever so handsome, you found him to be as cold as the cryo in his veins.

You knew you’d stutter around that man if you ever opened your mouth to say anything other than ‘Yes master!’ with your comrades.

Bi han was aware of your weariness in his presence and appreciated the respect you gave him, but he silently wished that you’d be less afraid. The permanent scowl on his good looking features… it’s just his resting face. (Johnny told him he had a resting bitch face, and he took offense to that and froze Johnny’s lips shut.)

Around the spring, flowers bloomed and blossomed in bright cool colors around the compound, sending their sweet fragrances into the morning air. Bi han took notice of a certain flower in particular.

It reminded him of you. Beautiful, bold, and bright, the flower swayed gently in the wind, its coloring identical to your uniform. Bi han thought about asking you to walk in the garden with him, but was at a loss for words when he thought about what he’d say.

Bi han’s brows furrowed as he looked away from the spring beauties, annoyed by his sudden incompetence. He was THE grandmaster for god’s sake, how could he not find it in himself to ask you on an outing?

As if things couldn’t get any worse, you showed up on the path he was on, talking with Kung Lao and Raiden during your break time. Bi han stood in his place off to the side, watching your every move, down to the way you tilted your head when you smiled and used your hands to talk.

As soon as you noticed your grandmaster’s presence, you stopped in front of him and bowed respectfully, greeting him like always. Kung Lao and Raiden nod their heads at him.

Almost immediately, Bi han’s mouth moves before his brain does, a complete rarity for his character.

“Y/n. I must speak with you,” he started before eying the boys to his side, “Alone.”

Kung Lao smirks at you before pulling Raiden along, leaving you to speak with the scariest man you know. What did you do? Were your reps earlier that bad? As if Bi han heard your mental fretting, he crossed his arms and shook his head.

“You are not in trouble, y/n.” He says, but the graveness of his tone does little to settle your nerves.

If only you could hear his heart race.

“Then.. what’s the matter?” You ask politely.

“The flowers have started to bloom…” Bi han holds his mask for a second, as if he thinks it’d fall if he didn’t. He was embarrassed now. How the great grandmaster has fallen, pitifully pining for more of your sweet presence.

“Walk with me in the garden at dusk. If you get hungry, we can visit Madame Bo’s.” Bi han mentally cursed himself for making his request sound like a command.

You hoped your jaw wasn’t on the floor. Had the grandmaster of the Lin Kuei asked you out? On a date? He was staring straight into your eyes, you felt his hard gaze pierce right through you. It would be threatening if he didn’t ask you on a date a few seconds prior.

“Sure—uh, grandmast—“

“Bi han. Address me as bi han.” He interrupted, voice gruff.

“Right. I’ll see you this evening, Bi han…” You say carefully, feeling your cheeks burn and your stomach flutter. You felt like you were more excited than he was, but trust, Bi han is subtly smiling under that ninja mask.

© vinaxxo 2024. Do not use my works for ai, or reposting to different platforms. Thanks for reading <3

[chernabogs]

ames you are COOKING (or should i say, planting???lol) SO HARD with the flower language prompts, 😭💖💞💖💞✨✨am really out here sobbing and crying over them like im watering these flowers with my Tears lol

so here i am requesting for these prompts: rosemary, begonia, pink camellia, dark crimson rose, purple hyacinth, blue salvia, zinnia

i picked these based on your initial tag about Maleficia and zinnia flower,,,, I SEE THE VISION so im requesting it now lol but also picked on prompts that reminded of Meleanor and Malleus,,, 😭i think therapy bills should be forwarded to Draconias instead, istg all they ever do is be in grief and loss /lh😭

if its too many, please feel free to choose whichever prompt you like and take your time in writing !! ☺️💞🌹✨✨

Ohhh I did my best here I promise LMAOOO. I tied in some easter eggs with other works i've done (namely Monody, Stasis, and Labours Gained). I hope you enjoy my absolute monstrous dump about Maleficia, whom I will die on a hill for tyvm

EMPTY CHAIRS

Inc: Maleficia, Meleanor, Levan, Lilia, Malleus (whole gang wow) WC: 4.2k :))) Warnings: Just some death, but I swear it ends on a happy note this time. Flowers: Begonia (How ghosts help the living live a little), Pink Camellia (Where I notice your absence the most), Dark Crimson Rose (The grave I visit everyday), Purple Hyacinth (The worst pain of my whole life and how it healed… multiple times) , Zinnia (The seats at the table and how they eventually became empty… multiple times) Summary: Moments where Maleficia was convinced her family was cursed, and a few times she truly wished this to not be the case.

A mother's love for her child is like nothing else in the world.  It knows no law, no pity.  It dares all things and crushes down remorselessly all that stands in its path.

Their family may be cursed. 

For many decades now Maleficia had toyed with the possibility of such a matter in her mind. It had first passed briefly with the death of her father—the second monarch to take over after the initial uprising—and the subsequent death of her mother a few weeks later. No one was surprised when she went. Her grief for the loss of her love had been so profound that it had flooded Briar Nation, drowning both cattle and crops in her dismay. Maleficia had postponed her own coronation as the cleanup occurred. It felt ill-boding to be crowned while bodies were floating down the mountain pass. 

The thought had returned once more when her husband vanished at sea, leaving her with a newborn hatchling on her own. Her love had been a strong headed man with adventure burning in his blood—it had been what drew her to him to begin with. That, and he was the only ex-sailor she knew who was bold enough to try and hold her for ransom. Wiping the deck with him had captured his heart—and the fact that he had been a dragon settled the Senate to a degree. But the sea is a fickle mistress, and although her love had skill and he had drive, even the most knowledgeable of sailors can never predict its next move. 

She had not flooded Briar Nation like her mother had, and she had held herself together before her people, although the empty space in her bed and at the dinner table deepened the wound nightly. It was in the quiet moments alone when it was just her and Meleanor that she felt his absence the strongest. 

In the beginning she loathed him for leaving her. Whenever she cradled their daughter as the hatchling shrieked and protested, blowing flame, and biting for flesh, she loathed him. Whenever she dealt with the Senate or another disaster befalling the Nation, she loathed him. 

But when Meleanor learned to fly, learned to run, and shifted into her two-legged form for the first time, the hatred began to fade. Because although he had vanished into the mists on a voyage destined to fail, he had left her with the greatest treasure she could ever have—and for that alone she could hold no ill will. 

Perhaps this sentimentality is why when Meleanor dragged a thin, sickly-looking bat into the halls of Black Scale, Maleficia heard her out.

“Please let him stay!” The princess had asked, green eyes wide as she grasped her mother’s skirts. “Please, mother!”

The other child had shrunk behind Meleanor, but shadows could not hide the burning defiance in the boy's eyes—a gaze of confrontation, and one that nothing truly innocent should hold. This is why she lacked the heart to say no. She quietly hoped that Lilia, as she would name him, would be the one to slay whatever reaper was following them—that the burning anger she had seen would ignite a fire that would cleanse the family of its suffocating misery. 

With the presence of Meleanor, Lilia, and eventually Levan, the silent table Maleficia had sat at for so long soon became a place of raucous conversation again. Although she found herself scolding the three children more than once (especially Levan for his non-subtle attempts at discarding food), the lingering warmth she would feel as she gazed at the trio made her confident that this family curse was on the bend. 

Naturally, it didn’t last. 

The first time she heard of the Silver Owls, Meleanor was 200 years old and more focused on warding off suitors than an unmarked ship. Maleficia had allowed her daughter to indulge by instead consulting with an advisor alone in the dark of her office. The concern lingering in the advisor's words would grow to haunt her.

“Perhaps it is temporary?” She posited, trying her best to remain optimistic on the matter. Plenty of people came and went from Cape Sunrise. A single unmarked ship with a few scraggly sailor’s was not something she felt the need to stress over. The advisor seemed doubtful on the matter.

“But they have tools. Items designed to dig up our soil,” they had insisted, but Maleficia dismissed the concerns with a wave and a blase response. 

“Let them try. They will not be able to break the first layer of our land.” 

___________________________________

The first one to leave the table had been Levan. There were many soldiers and nobles who vanished before he did but, selfishly, he was the first one that Maleficia really felt the absence of. Levan had grown up from a non-confrontational child to her son-in-law, a general of the princess and a father to the future heir. His compassion had not faded despite the years of war that now tore the Nation apart. Maleficia knew this by the way she came across him one night, cradling his egg so gently while murmuring against its shell. 

When he had noticed her, he had not corrected himself; if anything, he held the egg even closer. They had not exchanged too many words that night, but she sat next to him on the bench in the gardens, the silence speaking volume of her support to his decisions. 

“You will return.” It was not a question—it was a demand. Her voice held the authority of a queen who had seen many, many losses in her long life. Levan had remained silent for a moment longer as his lips brushed against the shell of her grandson's egg. 

“Always,” was the promise he made, and the last words Maleficia heard from him. When they didn’t receive notice for several days after he left, the conclusion was drawn that he was either dead, or the closest one could be to it. Meleanor held herself well in lieu of this information, as had Maleficia. 

But the empty seat felt an ill omen. 

___________________________________

The next one to leave the table had been Meleanor. When she was younger, she used to rest her head on Maleficia’s lap as her mother had fixed her hair. She would ramble on about her day and what she got up to with the two boys in the nonsensical fashion that many children do. Maleficia had listened with amusement, although her mind had always been half-focused on what she needed to do for her meetings the next day.

The regret of not giving Meleanor her full, undivided attention sunk in deep when she felt her daughter’s magic cut off. The bond in their family was intrinsically woven to allow them to get a sense of whether the other members were still alive. If asked, Maleficia might say it’s something of a dragon trait. Most of the time it served to be a blessing to allow her to know her family is alive and well. 

When it cut off mid-emergency meeting, the abruptness had been so profound that she nearly collapsed then and there. Her breath had hitched, her words stuttering to a stop as she stared wide-eyed at the Senate members surrounding her. At first, she hoped it was simply a fluke—a disruption in the magic—until she didn’t feel it return and the horrible, tar-like panic of a mother when her child goes missing welled up in her heart. She was tearing out of the room before any of the Senate members even had a chance to speak, screaming for her guards and her soldiers to tell her what was going on at Wild Rose. 

Her daughter, who spent her childhood running through the forests and laughing in the face of suitors. Her daughter, whose hair she would braid and then re-braid again when the girl somehow got burs in it. Her daughter, who was set to become a mother herself and experience all the precious moments Maleficia had. 

Her daughter, whose body wasn’t even recovered at the end of it all. 

___________________________________

The final one to leave the table was Lilia. In wake of the princesses passing, Malleus’ egg was put in the cradle tower, and Maleficia was designated to spirit him into hatching. She felt the faint connection of their magic from within the thick shell that guarded his body. His warmth, the subtle movements he made; they were all indicators that he was still alive and well despite his tumultuous arrival.

But Maleficia didn’t know if he would oblige. Hatchlings often needed the love of both parents to be shepherded forward—and Maleficia, now over eight hundred years old, already felt the strain of her magic from the conflicts going on in her Nation. There was no doubt that she held love for her grandson—but a lingering fear that her love wouldn’t be enough burned in her mind. This is what made her turn to Lilia, to send him on his quest around the world to try and find an additional means to bring the young prince forward.

For the first few decades, it worked well. Maleficia held the egg on a nightly basis and poured as much of her love and magic into it as she could. The egg consumed it all in a greedy fashion, demanding more every time she returned to the tower. One would think that Malleus was starving within by the way he pulled, and tore, and ripped at her powers to fuel his own development. 

Then he ceased feeding. She recalls the first night it happened; everything had been going well, until the connection was suddenly severed, and the green glow within the egg dulled back into a faint tint of color. Maleficia had initially dismissed it as a one-off event. Until it happened again, and again, and again. 

There’s a curious sense of panic that fills someone when they do everything they can to no avail. The panic she felt came in the form of a privatized breakdown in the tower. For many decades now Maleficia had toyed with the possibility of a curse in her mind. Now, she was beginning to consider that it was not her family who was cursed, but rather just herself. 

First it came for her father, and her mother shortly after. Then, when it grew hungry again, it ate through her husband and that of her daughters. Then it came for Meleanor herself, and now whatever reaper followed them was looming over her shoulder as she held Malleus’ egg and begged him to take something. 

Pleas fell from the lips of a monarch as she rocked the egg, stroked its shell so softly, whispering to just eat a little more, just take a little more. But the egg had remained as cold and aloof as it had for several nights now. Her desperation mounted in an order to Baul to summon Lilia back—to slay whatever reaper was following them before it pried the last of her bloodline from her hands. 

Her hopes of his role as the vanquisher of death came in an explosive hatching that she was informed of after it occurred. When she requested for Lilia to be brought to Black Scale to be reinstated in his role in his efforts, the Senate had then informed her that Lilia Vanrouge would never step foot in the capital again.

And so, in a span of mere moments, the final seat was emptied—and Maleficia found herself alone once more. 

___________________________________

Grandchildren are the best reminders  of the beauty and innocence of childhood.

When Malleus was first brought to her after he hatched, she didn’t want to touch him. The purple hue of his stomach and the way his green gaze darted around, drinking in the new world he emerged to, reminded her so much of Meleanor that she wanted to laugh at the cruel irony. The hurt that smouldered in her heart ignited back into a flame that found her turning a cold shoulder to the hatchling. 

“Go clean him. He has amniotic fluid all over.” She remembers ordering, voice deceptively calm for the turmoil happening within. The wet nurse that was hired obliged as the hatchling shrieked and protested the frequently changing environment around him. His cries made Maleficia clench her jaw tighter as she stared resolutely at the battle plans drawn before her, her hands gripping the table enough to turn her knuckles white. 

A few times she went to him in the beginning. The encounters lasted only as long as Maleficia could tolerate seeing how similar he looked to Meleanor before she would depart and leave him in the care of his wet nurse once more. Guilt fought with anger in her heart about the circumstances that she found herself in and her inability to overcome them. She could feel the ghost of her daughter chastising her in the corner for being so cowardly in her approach. 

The breakthrough arrived when Malleus became ill. Grieves—a fever-like condition that affected fae children in particular—resulted in Maleficia sitting with her grandson one night as the exhausted wet nurse was excused for a long overdue break. She held him on her lap in the dark as his small form fought his fever, whispering how the stars that looked down from above were the eyes of the people who loved him, keeping him safe in this world. Her voice had cracked as she spoke, and it was only when a small whine left him did she realize she was hugging him tight to her body. 

“I am so sorry,” she had choked out, unsure if the apology was for the hold she had or the neglect she had given so far. “Please forgive me.”

Malleus had twisted in her arms, small wings fluttering before he settled himself down and began to doze. He had already forgotten what upset him to begin with. She wished it would always be that way—but she knew that was nothing but a vague hope. 

She loathed Meleanor for leaving. Whenever she cradled Malleus as the hatchling threw his tantrums, blowing flame, and biting for flesh as all children seem to do, she loathed her. Whenever she dealt with another part of the war or signed another treaty alone, she loathed her. 

But when Malleus scrambled onto her lap mid-Senate meeting, chased after courtiers, and flew for the first time (admittedly, into a flock of pigeons), Maleficia loved her. Because although like her father she had vanished in an ill-fated decision, she had left a small reminder that she was never truly gone. Maleficia could comfort Malleus, could see the ghost of his mother in his clever little eyes, and for that alone she could hold no ill will. 

Meleanor’s death had proved to be far worse than anything else—but her gift of the small dragon in her lap felt like the first steps towards recovery again. So, she had kissed between his horns that night and promised to herself that she would do all that she could to give him a future free of the misery that plagued their family thus far. 

___________________________________

In the aftermath, she spent time with him whenever she could. Via dinners, via having him sit in on meetings, via walks in the gardens—whenever she could, she would be there. However, despite her newfound presence changing some things for the better, she remained unable to quell the curiosity that burned in her grandson's mind. 

She found him in the mausoleum once. He was standing on the toes of his mother with his small hand touching her stone-carved face. Maleficia had not been to the mausoleum since the boy hatched so many years ago. The raw memories still stirred in her heart and seeing him look up at his mother with such a gaze of innocent adoration did nothing but unsettle her more. 

When he noticed her, his face had lit up into a smile as he hopped back down and pointed up to one of the other statues. “This is grandfather?” 

Maleficia’s gaze slid to where he was pointing. A strong jaw, a dangerous glint in stone-etched eyes, and a faint smirk painted the picture of the man she had once loved and held so dearly many years ago. Maleficia nodded. Malleus, taking this as encouragement, then ran back to the other statue he had been touching with his small hands. 

“And this is mother?” 

Again, Maleficia nodded. The painful similarities between Malleus and his mother were more apparent when they were side to side. If Maleficia were to squint, she could mistake Malleus as a younger Meleanor: the same horns, same hair length, even the same streak of mischief that got both into so much trouble. 

Malleus had hummed thoughtfully before stepping down again. “Do you miss them?” 

A deceptively innocent question. Of course she missed them. All she had left of her family was one grandson and three empty coffins: a husband at sea, a daughter in the hands of humans, and a son-in-law somewhere in the moors. “I do,” she offered back. “I miss them greatly.” 

Malleus had asked her why, then. Children like him were filled with innocence and wonder about the world. He had no knowledge of the bodies that were lost, or the tragedies that had predicated his birth. Her reply did nothing but fuel an unease in the boy, for moments after she offered it, he ran back to her and threw his small arms around her waist.

When he hugged her, he clung with a ferocity that was baffling for his size. Her hands rested on his head and stroked his hair soothingly as she had done with Meleanor many times before she guided him away from the tombs and the memory of family he never met.

She should visit them more often now. 

___________________________________

She rediscovers that there’s a privilege in watching someone grow. Lilia’s gradual return into their lives helps ease the stress of raising a child again in her older age, which is partially why she turns a blind eye every time Malleus slips out of the palace to visit the man. She’s honoured to observe in a more passive manner the way her grandson changes and grows as a person. She watches him go from spiteful towards humans to more amiable with the arrival of Lilia’s adopted son. As he grows before her eyes, she begins to see less of Meleanor and Levan in his features and more of just Malleus—the quiet, albeit arrogant, boy that was hers. 

Time goes by faster as she ages alongside him. One moment he’s clinging to her skirts, and the next he’s off to NRC, and then finally, 178 years have passed like the blink of an eye. She used to bemoan how slow time was—and now she wishes it to ease off a bit.

She’s sitting in the gazebo in the gardens for reprieve, a novel in hand as the screaming of insects choruses a song for her amusement. The aroma of flowers surrounds her and for a moment she feels utter peace in the world. The summer is ending and there are no celebrations or events to concern herself with. For the first time in what feels like eons, Maleficia Draconia can breathe. 

The sound of someone approaching puts a pause in this. 

She lowers her book to peer over at whoever is coming, hoping silently it isn’t an advisor or a courtier seeking out an audience on the sly. Fortunately, the sight of two horns and a scowling face turning the corner nullifies this as she turns back to her book. 

“Finally decided to see the sun?” She muses as she hears him stepping onto the gazebo platform. She waits for his response, but only comes to feel surprised when Malleus kneels by where she sits and does something that he hasn’t done in a long time now—he places his head in her lap. At his age, his body is too tall now to really kneel efficiently at her side, but by the gods does the boy try as he hits his head right down. Her hand comes up on instinct to brush strands of his dark hair behind his ear as he looks over the gardens, his shoulders tense with stress. 

They’re silent for a moment, listening to the sounds of screaming insects from beyond before Malleus speaks.

“The gardens look atrocious.”

Maleficia raises an eyebrow as she lowers her book to look at where he’s staring. Her hand continues to stroke his head soothingly as she huffs a soft laugh. “Our groundskeepers are going for a more ‘untamed’ look this season.”

“I have counted twenty-six thistles in the minute I have been here.” Malleus shoots back as his hand comes to rest by his face. “It’s late in the season. They might be growing lazy.”

 “Nonsense. You know how hard working they are. You spent ample amounts of time with them when you were younger.” She fails to hide the smile teasing on her lips with this comment. Malleus’ temper tantrums had landed him in more than enough problems in his youth. Problems which were often rectified by a gentle lesson of how hard it is to fix up his messes—garden destruction included. 

Malleus deigns her with a unprincely snort in response. They fall back into a warm silence as she keeps her hand on his head and returns her attention to her book. She knows that something is on his mind, but she retains her silence both to give him an opportunity to speak, and to enjoy the moment that they’re having. In the privacy of the garden, they can get away with this rare display of familial affection. 

She feels him sigh as his eyes flutter close before he speaks up. “Do you ever feel… unease?” 

“Unease?” She hums quietly as she turns a page. “On many occasions I have, yes. Unease tends to go hand in hand with some of the things I have dealt with.” 

She knows he doesn’t mean in the sense of his royal duties. Malleus is an unusually quiet and introverted boy—but she had noticed him being more so the past week as summer began to inch towards its end. He opens his eyes and sighs again before withdrawing to sit back on his knees. 

Maleficia wisely closes her book and sets it down before affixing him with as stern of a look as she can muster without chuckling. “Sighing and moping in the corners does little to aid me in providing advice.” 

Malleus’ gaze goes upwards to stare at the ceiling of the gazebo before his expression drops to a pout. “I am feeling reluctant to return to NRC.”

“Oh? And why is that?” 

Maleficia quietly reaches her hand out to brush his bangs back from his forehead, revealing the scale pattern beneath. Malleus’ eyes flutter shut at the gesture as his pout remains present.

“Three years have passed now, and I have yet to feel included in the school environment. Spending my days with those I already know from here hardly feels like an efficient use of time.” His jaw clenches. “Every effort I make to form any sort of connection to others feels like it’s a pointless endeavour at this rate.”

“Malleus, you must be patient with these things. It takes time for people to warm up to the likes of us. You must simply continue being yourself, and the right people will make the effort to get to know you. I understand it may seem upsetting right now, but you must simply keep trying your best.” A faint smile touches her lips despite the worry gnawing at her heart. She wishes she could do more, but she also understands that these are things he must figure out himself. “You’re going to this school to gain new experiences and see the world beyond our little Valley without the Senate looming over you. Things will work out in the end.” 

Malleus’ body seems to relax at her words as he opens his eyes again. His expression eases to his usual neutral look as he nods slightly. “... yes, I suppose you are correct.”

“I often am.” She pinches his cheek lightly, causing the scowl to immediately return to his face as he jerks to avoid her grasp, making her laugh in turn. “Besides, are you not excited to see Lilia, Silver, and Sebek more often again? Well. More often than you do already.”

A pointed look has him averting her gaze as she picks her book up again. His demeanour reminds her of Meleanor, but the similarities no longer ache when she considers them. This was Malleus—her grandson, not his mother, nor his father—and she was eager to see the person he was still destined to become. ���Now, you should be packing, should you not? We don’t need the crisis we had last year where we were all hunting down books for you last minute.” 

Malleus groans softly before rising to his feet and brushing his pants off. He presses a brief kiss to her forehead, coaxing another smile from her lips before he pulls away. 

“Yes, grandmother,” he grumbles with all the moodiness of an embarrassed teenage boy, and Maleficia can’t help but feel happiness at seeing it. Cursed or not, she will continue to enjoy these moments of joy as long as she may have them.

[lowkeyrobin]

👀 guess who's back

Is now a bad time to request a Foosh fic?

helloooo!! ; also I'm backed the fuck up but dw I swear I'll get this shit posted LMAO ; also went for some angst cause why not (I wanted to write maze runner angst of some sort but idek I have too many reqs)

FOOLISH GAMERS ; meet you at the graveyard

summary ; you have to say goodbye to one another

warnings ; language, suicidal innuendos

disclaimers ; snow in carolina 😭🙏 forgot where bro lives for a minute, reader is 23 but can mostly be ignored ig, young sheldon reference, me venting about loss and grief kinda idek

track ; meet you at the graveyard, cleffy

word count ; 853

b/m = birth month & b/d = birth date

masterlist

Foolish somblerly walks up to the graveyard where you lay now, where you stay now. He carries a bouquet of crimson red roses in his hand, the snow under his feet making a crushing sound as he walks.

His head hangs low, the vision of the accident and your face clouding his mind as he lays eyes on your headstone. He sets the flowers down across the snow, covering the bottom of your headstone like a freezing cold blanket.

You didn't deserve this, being only twenty-three.

His fingers trace your birth date and death date fragiley, like he'd hurt you beyond the grave.

B/M B/D, 1999 - December 28th, 2022

It stung seeing those numbers like that, under this circumstance. Your birthday was something to be celebrated, bringing joy and excitement, but now it hurt. Instead of creating more fun, happy memories with you, he'd have to sit in silence and ponder, drowning in those old memories because he couldn't make any new ones with you.

He sits down, looking blankly at the grey stone, then up at the grey skies above.

He talked to you every once in a while when he visited, trying to fill the empty hole in his heart. He felt like Mary Cooper talking to you like this, still hurt and alone, just wishing it'd all get better.

"How do you ever expect me to be happy?" He asks, his tone laced with the slightest bit of anger. Anger at himself mostly, angry at the force that took you away from him. "Why isn't letting go as easy as loving you?"

Tears stream down his frost-bitten cheeks, glowing a bright red. He wasn't properly dressed for the cold, only wearing some thick shoes, jeans, and a heavy coat over a t-shirt. He'd nearly left the house wearing basketball shorts until he saw the snow in his yard.

"I can't help it, it's just the way I'm wired, I know. I just can't let go. I love you too much to even try." He shakes his head, shoulders raised as he tenses up. "Every time I see photo recaps of you on my phone, I just cry. I don't wanna cry anymore, Y/n/n. I wanna smile when I see you, but I can't."

He wipes his tears away with his thick sleeves, sniffling a bit as he attempts to keep his composure.

"You taught me so much, you gave me so many new experiences and memories and showed me things I never would've if it weren't for you. I'm here right now because of you, everything is because of you." He admits. "Getting over you feels so wrong, even if it's just trying to live with myself without you. Those words that you said before you left my house are stuck in my head like glue, I don't know what you even meant. I can't even tell between fact and fiction with it"

He thinks of it over and over again before whispering it aloud. "'See you tomorrow, maybe', what does that mean?" He questions, "What does that even mean?" He asks again, his voice breaking.

At the response of nothing, he hides his face in his hands, struggling to hold back the tears. He quickly stands up without wishing you goodbye, heading back to the front entrance to leave and get back home.

You watch as he does so, his frozen fingertips hidden in his pockets. You sat on top of your headstone, knowing he couldn't see nor hear you, hoping one day he could. You always answered his questions, responded to his statements. You'd stay there until he joined you, hoping it was later rather than sooner, if anything.

As much as you'd been waiting for him, you could wait longer. You wanted him to live the long, fulfilling life you didn't give yourself. He'd be okay without you, he just needed time to adapt.

The days flick by quickly as if they're merely seconds, showing the snow melting over time and those roses wilting. Eventually, they're fully decomposed, leaving the plastic wrapping to be picked up by a stranger visiting their loved one, as it'd blown in the wind toward them. The grass is cut again once it's warm again.

They never weed wack, but mow over the flowers Foolish left at your grave, angering him. He decided that every time he'd come, about once every two to three months, he'd plant new ones. They hadn't run over the new rose bush he'd put beside your headstone, pleasing him at least.

You watched as he grew month after month, clearly happier and healthier after each visit. They'd become more sporadic, but he'd never healed, you don't just heal after losing someone like that. You break for good, you're able to super glue the broken plate back together, but cracks and small missing pieces still remain.

His goofy laugh makes itself present one day, lighting up your whole face like you'd never smiled before. It glued together one of those broken pieces inside of you, you swore it.

"I love you, Y/n/n."

[ithaquasbbg]

Can you do hcs of being Nathinel Norwell's fiancee before he died and all of that? :) like some fluff and then some angst

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Yes ofc! So happy somebody else likes him!

Nathaniel Norwell with a fiancé s/o Headcanons

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Pairing : Nathaniel Norwell x Reader

Tw: Paranoia, Suicide, Murder

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|🩷| He was raised in an incredibly strict household, and would be basically clueless when it comes to love when you two first meet

|🩷| In all honesty, you may have been the one who proposed to him in private, though he’ll never admit to it in public

|🩷| He’s incredibly protective over you! Constantly checking to make sure you aren’t injured if you do something strenuous, Holding your hand tightly around strangers, ect!

|🩷| Nathaniel strikes me as quite a feminine looking young man, long eyelashes, thin frame, ect.

|🩷| He’s very shy when it comes to physical affection, rarely making contact with you unless he deems it necessary

|🩷| Because of this, he’s probably quite an easy young man to get flustered, any touch (especially around the face) turns him into a blushing mess

|🩷| Nathaniel is SUCH a mamas boy and it’s obvious! (Ironic bc he tortured ithas mom…) after you two get engaged, his mother is the first to know about it!

|🩷| Despite coming off as an uncaring person in public, Nathaniel is quite afraid of disappointing or hurting you.

|🩷| On that same note, he’d NEVER say he loved you in public, acting for the most part indifferent (..sorry.. he’s like that). But in private, he can’t stop himself from whispering little praises and tracing your hands with his fingers, playing with your hair ect.

|🩷| Once he gets a touch of affection and gets used to it, he constantly looks for it from you in private!

|🩷| Nathaniel is probably the little spoon most of the time despite claiming he’s not. Sometimes, if you’re really upset or overwhelmed he’ll be the big spoon, but it’s generally out of character for him.

|🩷| He’d tell you that you look like an Angel and be dead serious. Yes, he’s afraid of upsetting god, but you’re just so beautiful/handsome he can’t keep himself from saying it.

But after visiting that witches cottage, he doesn’t seem the same anymore

|🩷| Nathaniel frequently has night terrors about the things he’s done to the witch, enough to push him to the point of illness occasionally (I think it was probably his father who made him do it.)

|🩷| He becomes increasingly paranoid over the next few days, rarely ever leaving his room unless it’s to go to the basement where he keeps that woman

|🩷| He’s never been the type to care much about mirrors, but after that day you notice that they all start to be covered up, almost as if he was haunted by his own face

|🩷| Unfortunately, his mental decline made his apparent “suicide” not all that shocking for you. Upsetting, yes! But he was barely keeping himself sane for weeks before his death, it made sense

|🩷| But when his father tells you he doesn’t think it was a suicide, you agree to investigate it with him.

|🩷| Though you wish you hadn’t, as learning about the way he had perished was horrifying for you. The pain and fear he must have been in is something you could only imagine

|🩷| Occasionally you’ll visit his grave, leaving some flowers for him. Nathaniel had always liked flowers, having some as decoration around his home

|🩷| The knowledge that he was killed by some man who looked identical to him drove you crazy though. Against your best judgement, you wander out into the forest to look for your lovers murderer

….

Open ending!

[eddiediazismyhusband]

So for this hc thing...how would they spend birthdays? All 3 of buck, eddie and Chris birthday?. I have it in my head that someday on bucks birthday Chris and eddie will make him breakfast in bed and Chris will give him this giant wrapped box that's really light, and inside that is another box and so on, until eventually buck finds an envelope with adoption papers. Yes I know I'm cheesy

okay anon first im gonna need you to write that fanfic and send it to me immediately because that is absolutely adorable… NEVER APOLOGIZE FOR CHEESY BUDDIE FLUFF I EAT IT UP ALL THE TIME

as for birthday headcanon, I have to think about those because for some reason i’ve never given much thought to birthdays specifically?? ive headcanoned so many other things about them but have never given this one much thought aside from what days their birthdays are lmao

so please bear with me as these are not super in depth but just little things i could see them doing ✨

- i think that for a long time (especially after maddie left) buck didn’t like celebrating his birthday, and even to an extent now he doesn’t like to make a big deal out of it, but early on in his friendship with eddie, chris asked when buck’s birthday was and got so excited to celebrate with buck that now that buck and edsie are married, they always do a big celebration with just the three of them; chris and eddie bringing him breakfast in bed, Chris still makes a homemade card for buck, even as a teenager, and when it falls on weekdays when chris has to go to school, buck and eddie spend the day curled up in bed cuddling and talking… eddie has also grown accustomed to taking buck to dinner for his birthday— nothing to fancy, but they enjoy having a date night just the two if them for the occasion. It’s the only reason buck no longer hates his birthday.

- Eddie’s birthday is the same level of big deal for buck and christopher, only Buck ramps up the birthday breakfast to the extreme. Everything else is pretty much the same as buck’s birthday, but for eddie.

- Buck slowly warmed up to the idea of doing something with the 118 for his birthday at Bobby and Athena’s after a few years of working there, and now it is a staple event each year.

- Buck goes all out trying to throw the biggest and best birthday parties for Chris, but as Chris gets older the more he wants a more laidback party with his closest friends rather than a big celebration like when he was younger. He misses the days if a huge party, but is still more than happy to follow Chris’s wishes every year.

- Eddie collects newspaper headlines from each of chris’s birthdays. It was something abuela started with eddie and his sisters, and while he was in the army, he asked if she would start doing the same for chris. Buck never noticed until more recently, and he began doing the same.

- For Buck’s first birthday after their wedding, Eddie gifts him with a small ring on a chain- telling him it was made from the bullet from the sniper— the st christopher emblem is engraved on top of the ring, and buck wears it around his neck

- Buck insists on giving eddie a kiss for every year he’s been alive on his birthday

- eddie proposed to buck on chris’s birthday after asking what chris wanted for his birthday and he said “i want buck to be my other dad”

- chris has a scrapbook that shannon started for him with every birthday card he’s ever gotten— he kept it up after she died, and eddie didn’t find out about it until chris asked if they could buy another scrapbook for him to continue

- Eddie and Chris visit Shannon’s grave every year on Chris’s birthday, Eddie giving him some alone time to talk to her; they also visit for her birthday every year, Chris insisting on leaving her favorite flowers

thank you for the ask, anon! and again I’m sorry it took me so long to reply to this one 😭😭💕💕

[dailyunstableeve]

Grave visit au

Miguel O'Hara x Fem!reader

w: Angst, soft and in pain Miguel, just the all possible sad stuff, idk what else to put, just a very sad one(I guess)

a/n: imagine I die and he visit my grave (jkjk) I'm also working on different version, and also every possible characters of Astv as I can, just to like have the story to be write out, the context are in the masterlist ❤️

Grave visit au Masterlist

Masterlist

°:. *₊ ° . ° .•°:. *₊ ° . ° .•°:. *₊ ° . ° .•°:. *₊ ° . ° .•°:. *₊ ° . ° .

Lover version

Miguel would be the one that takes all the chances and second he has to just visit your grave.

Miguel would never move on, he would always keep you in his mind just so he would never forget what a happy man you had made him.

Miguel would sit at your grave for hours, looking at your name carved on the gravestone, with the memory of you taking your last breath in his arms, just like he lost Gabriella.

Miguel would silently cry after five minutes of staring at your gravestone.

Miguel would bring your favorite flower to visit you every time, he even has a vase in his office just to place your favorite flower in it, so he will forever remember you.

Miguel would say stuff that when you're alive, the stuff you wished Miguel to do that you would be proud of him, "I ate my meal well today, carino." "I manage to keep the ceiling clean like you asked." "I managed to not get mad at that kid Miles today."

It's been a year since the incident of your death, Miguel showed up every single day, no matter if it's windy, sunny, rainy, chilly, or cold, he will always show up. Miguel brushes his hand on your gravestone, brushing off the dust, or leaves, or the snow. For the first five minutes, the smile on his face remained, hoping that his smile could tell you that he's okay even if he's not. Miguel missed you every damn day that he hardly got sleep, only time he would sleep was him looking through your files, playing videos that had your voice in it, he would play it in the background to at least smooth his pain a little as he can sleep a little better.

"You promised, you promised to stay with me, why did you leave first?"

"Promise to stay together?" You asked Miguel.

"Forever."

"And ever."

"I miss you so much, carino, you have no idea how depressing it is to wake up without you next to me."

"Good morning handsome, are you ready for today?" You softly chuckled, giving Miguel kisses all over the face.

"Five more minutes, carino." Miguel shoved his face to your chest.

"Anything my Miggy wants." You caressingly his hair and cuddling with him a bit longer.

"I remembered you telling me about the pastry down the street, I went to it yesterday when I was walking back, they are tasty just like you said, but it sure will be more tasty if I was eating it with you."

"Miguel! Have you heard about that new pastry down the street?" You rushed into his office with a flier in my hand.

"Pastry?" Miguel frowned.

"I know you don't really enjoy sweets but I really want to try it out, will you go with me?" You begged.

"Sure Mi Amor." Miguel smiled and gave you a kiss.

"I miss your cooking, your [best dish], I tried to cook it but it seems like I'm missing something, maybe it's missing the taste of eating it with you."

"My favorite dish!" Miguel acted like a small kid that he finally got treats after many rounds of asking for it.

"Just for you." You smiled, took a spoonful of the food, feeding Miguel.

"I can eat this forever," he looked at you, a smile on his face that really shows that he really loves it.

"What if you get sick?"

"I will still eat it," Miguel gave a kiss on your cheek and fed you as well.

Miguel stood in front of your gravestone, the only thing that he can think of is you, about everything you do, how adorable you are.

You and Miguel have a universe traveling plan but you weren't able to go with him, so he would still carry on the planning, going to every universe you wished to visit.

"Don't you dare to forget me, and wait for me."

[ananiel]

His cruel angel

Moriarty the patriot x reader

Tw :hurt/comfort, death, slight Gore a little bit of toxic relationship but happy end

William james moriarty x reader

Sorry for bad english.

The manor was quiet. Moran and Bond weren't arguring, Louis was doing his chores. Everyone seemed busy.

William being the busies. He looked at the clock a few Times and noted that his wife, Reader, hadn't visited him in a few hours. If he remembers so corectly, he hadn't seen her since he woke up. William usually, if he sleep that is, wakes up before reader does.

He knew that her mother, who was traveling the world as a circus ring master with only her little brother, since reader remained in London with William, should've sent a letter today.

Reader was surely waiting for it to appear.

Yes, that was it.

She will come at any moment now.

She was just waiting for a letter, after all, he loved her and she loved him, neither one of them could leave the other behind!

An hour passes and Reader enters quietly in the manor, holding a letter close to her chest. "Ah, my love, You are finally here!" William exclaims and goes to reader. He can sense something is wrong but doesn't want to be direct about it.

"William please sit down." Reader says firmly. Her voice was shallow. Clearly something happend. William does as told, waiting impatiently for her to speak again.

"My mother died" she says quietly. Her eyes Red while looking at him. Before William could say anything she ads :

"i was sent a letter from her manager and i would like to take her place as ring master at the circus-"

"no." William cuts her off.

Reader looks surprised.

"but-"

"no. I won't let You leave me. Your mother's circus was a moving one. If You take over it You will have to move from place to place. I don't want You to leave me."

"But William-"

Louis and Moran enter, looking at the both of them. William pulls her close and whispers into her ear.

"You are not an acrobat, or ring master or what not. You are lady Moriarty. My wife. We will go to complete the mission planed today and forget this conversation ever happend. Clear?"

Reader frowns slightly but nods her head and follows the others to the mansion where they would kill a noble family that does ilegal traficking of children and women.

Yet, reader was clearly not paying attention. She was clearly still thinking about her mother. William should've known better than to bring her in such a place.

She got shot.

William didn't see where. The building was on fire and the nobleman was aiming for him, but instead, the bullet hit reader. She fell to the ground. William rushed to get to her but Moran grabed and draged him outside. The building colapsed and William fell to his knees, screaming and crying. Louis knelt down to comfort his brother but William was simply unconsolable. He was holding his ring. The one that should've shown others that he had his love. That he found the missing piece of his life. Now he lost it all.

It's been 11 months since the incident. William wasn't the same. They couldn't find her body. Didn't have enough time to look for it as the police showed up. Reader had a gravestone put on her name, but no corpse there. William often visited her grave. Sometimes he brings flowers, other times deserts that she used to love. He would sit hours at a time. Whising that she was there, or that at least, God would have mercy on his soul and kill him too. He was already dead inside, was his reasoning for the sinful wish of death. Without his love. Without his angel. The world returned to it's dark place that doesn't let him have a happy ending.

He read all the letters that she ever gotten and the ones she never sent. He didn't eat, didn't sleep. He was a broken man. One that had no motivation left. His brothers were worried but what could they do? The last Time Louis tried to talk to William, he started sobbing.

The last Time William and Reader ever talked was an argument. She died not knowing how much he truly loved her. She died because of him. He was truly a monster. One that killed the only light in his life that could change that fact.

He read the letter from Reader's mother hundreds of Times, and out of spite looked for The circus that her mother had. The reason why they had an argument, why she was so distracted in the mision... The reason why she...

William couldn't finish that line, even in his head. Even thinking about it, twist his insides and yet she is all that he can think about.

To his surprise, the circus was still going. Making even more money then it ever did. Maybe her little brother was running it now. He took the train to where the circus was located at the moment. Her brother had the right to know that she wasn't alive anymore.

When he got to the gate he felt a chill run down his spine. This is where he met reader the first Time. She was an acrobat for her mother's circus. When they made eye contact for the first time he knew that she was the one.

"My ladies and my gentelmans!"

Wait.

Wait.

He knew that voice. He knew that voice so well.

The voice he hadn't heard in 11 months.

His angel. That was his angel. He knew it for sure.

He ran inside while the others were leaving. Clearly the performance was over and many nobles gave him weird looks for entering now, but did he care? Not at all.

His breath hitched and his heart started beating again after 11 sorowfull months. There was his beautiful wife in the middle.

Wearing a Red costume and a magician hat. She was the ring master of the show.

She turned to face him and let out a gasp when seeing him but regained her compusture fast.

William slowly made her way to her.

"yes, i know what You will say" Reader started talking.

"how could i do something like this"

Reader took a few steps back and William took a few foward. William was silently the hole time

"how could i leave everything behind, how could i leave You behind."

Redear was almost backed down into a wall

"why do You have to be so stoick, William!"

Reader was completly backed down against the wall.

"shout, scream, say something!" she screams.

William takes her cheeck in his hand and caresses it softly. Tears start falling from her eyes.

"You're as beautiful as the day i lost You" William finally whispers and Kisses reader.

It was the best kiss they have ever shared togheter.

William finally felt alive after all this time. His angel. How could his angel leave him to mourn like this? She truly was a cruel woman.

And he was a monster.

He was a monster, and her, his cruel angel

[siancore]

Feels Like Home | SamBucky | General Audiences | 842 Words

A/N: For @sambuckylibrary SamBucky Summer Bingo. Square fill: Coming Out

It was funny how belonging, and home, was not necessarily linked to a place, but a person. As if home was linked more to the family you had instead of a house you all resided in. Bucky had not had a home in so long – in a whole lifetime, actually, but he wanted that. He yearned for it. Dreamed of it.

So, he had packed up his belongings to leave the city that used to be his home so that he could be with his new family. He was ready to take that leap, to put one foot in front of the other on that journey, but there was one more thing he needed to do.

“I been thinkin’ about you a lot lately,” said Bucky as he stood awkwardly out under the paling Brooklyn sun. “I guess things come back to me in flashes, y’know? Memories. Regrets. All the words I wished I hadda said. I just – I need to say this. I just need to get this out and off my chest, so please don’t stop me.”

A melancholic smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He ran his hand over his hair, smoothing it down, and calming his nerves all at once.

“So, I’m not sure if you know, but I’m leavin’ town. And no, it ain’t like last time. I ain’t goin’ off to fight. I’m not putting my life on the line. I think I’ve finally found some — I dunno — some peace. I know, with what I’ve been through and with what I’ve done, the secrets I’ve kept; it sounds almost laughable, almost seems unfair.”

A cool breeze swept up around Bucky as he took a deep, calming breath. 

“Speaking of secrets,” Bucky continued as he placed his hands in his pockets. “I’m tryin’ not to do those anymore. I met someone who makes me wanna be open and honest. And they really don’t judge me for what I’ve done and the secrets I’ve held inside.”

He let out a wry laugh and said, “I’ve held so much so close to my chest I felt like I couldn’t breathe, y’know?”

He removed one hand and rubbed it over his face.

“But I met Sam, and he just makes everything bearable. He makes me feel like I can breathe. He’s just so — Sam.”

Bucky smiled with joy, then. He removed both hands and gestured with them as he continued to speak.

“I know that doesn’t explain much to you, but if you knew him it’d make perfect sense. He’s the bravest, most selfless man. He’s got this sorta tough exterior, but he’s all soft and warm on the inside. He’s a charmer and a looker to boot. Funny and hilarious and probably the most annoying person I know.”

Bucky laughed at that. 

“He’s also the kindest person I know. He’s a real hero.”

Silence pervaded a beat.

“Did I mention he’s a looker?” asked Bucky as he dipped his head a little. “He’s beautiful, actually.”

He paused a moment, letting more silence settle around him. He thought of Sam and his smile. He thought of how being with Sam felt like home. He continued to speak.

“I don’t know how else to say this, so I’ll just come out and say it: I’m so sweet on Sam Wilson. Didn’t think I’d ever get the chance, or the guts, to stand in front of the both of you and say that I was sweet on another fella. Wish I’d gotten to tell you both earlier.”

Bucky felt a pang in his chest as his eyes glossed over.

“I think you’d have liked him,” Bucky continued. “He would’ve charmed you, Ma. And you’d see how good he is, Dad. You’d both see how happy he makes me, and you’d be happy for me. I know it. It took finding Sam to figure out who I really am. After all of the fighting — fighting other people. Fighting myself and who I was — who I am. I can finally let myself be happy with him.”

Bucky wiped a tear from his eye, reached into his coat, and retrieved two separate flowers. He placed one single flower down on his mother’s grave, and then the other to his father’s.

“I’m leavin’ now,” said Bucky as he crouched down and ran a hand over his Ma’s name etched into the cold stone. “Don’t know when I’ll be back to visit. Delacroix is a lil’ faraway. Sam and I have a place. We’re gonna give this whole bein’ partners thing a good go.”

Bucky stood up and dipped his head once again.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you both when you were still here,” he said as a tear rolled down his face. “That I liked fellas, too. Not sure I’d even know what to say. I just know I love Sam, and I’m sure if you both knew him, you’d love him, too.”

With that, Bucky said goodbye to his parents and walked away, wearing a sad smile and carrying a heart so full of hope and love.

[sinfulpunishment]

✎ᝰ┆… And To Letting Go

─❏ Warnings: none

─❏ Characters: Oda Sakunosuke, mentioned Ango Sakaguchi

─❏ Synopsis: Read by a man standing in front of his friend’s grave in the rain.

─❏ A/N: part two of the oda goodbye letters

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Dearest Ango,

I am well aware that last we spoke it was not on… the best of terms, but I am also aware that there must be a reason for your actions. I don’t believe I blame you, nor am I really upset with you.

Besides, you should be focused on other matters and not any guilt you may feel for what you’ve done. For example, you should be getting more rest instead of staying up so late to do work, maybe then you wouldn’t have to rely on coffee so much. At this point though, I know your coffee order, but it’s very simple: two shots of espresso, and sometimes a biscotti alongside it. Though, I know you prefer the coffee I make over any other coffee shop nearby. It’s strange, I wouldn’t say that my coffee is any better than someone who dedicated their life to it, but if you really like it that much then I’ll always make you a pot.

I am sorry things aren’t going to be able to go back to how they used to be. I know it’s hard, our time together meant a lot to you, even now I can tell it’s hard for you to let go. Sometimes I also catch myself daydreaming of a time in which we all are free men, and we can lead normal lives together, as friends. I know you like antiques, right? I wish I could have gone antiquing with you then. I also wish we all could have gone somewhere like the beach together, or maybe even the aquarium.

But we can’t. Things are different now, and soon I won’t be with you two anymore.

I only hope that you continue to do what’s right, you are a rather kind person deep down, I know that. I hope you’re able to hold onto a copy of that photo of us, just for yourself, that way you can at least have a picture to capture that small period of time. I still want you to be able to let go though, you’ll have to, you cannot get stuck in the past and what could have been. By the time you read this, what’s done will have been done and there will be no turning back.

Just promise me this much: that you’ll take care of yourself and Dazai, for me.

For you, treat yourself well and take care of yourself, learn how to make your own espresso or find a coffee shop you really like. Try getting more rest too, and remember not to let your work completely control your life.

As for Dazai, just keep an eye on him. I do not know what path he will walk down, if he will stay in the Port Mafia or leave to find a better life; Of course, I hope he chooses the latter.

I know you could help him get out of any serious trouble, he doesn’t always make the safest decisions. But, he’s smart. He may not always seem to make the “best choices”, but things always seem to work out for him, he always plans ahead. Even if he doesn’t like you, not that I think that he absolutely hates you, he is still bound to you by the bond we all formed.

If you ever visit my resting place, don’t bring yellow flowers, Dazai hates yellow and we both know he’ll visit me too. Maybe bring a bottle of Scotch and two shot glasses, open a bottle for me and save me a glass.

Oh, before I forget, you did know of my dream to be a novelist, right? To sit at a desk, with a window overlooking the sea so I can hear the waves crash to the shore with a certain rhythm to it that you have to spend years around to even understand—I’m getting ahead of myself.

I wanted to leave that novel to you, Ango. I trust that you can write well, and you would know what I would have liked to read. It’s just that this is very important to me. Of course, you don’t have to. Make sure to leave me a copy if you do though, maybe even come and read it to me if you have time, I know you’re a busy man.

I know things are different between us, but I still wish nothing for the best for you, my friend. Don’t forget to visit our usual spot every now and then, greet the bartender for me, won’t you?

This is goodbye now, write for me.

To the stray dogs, and to letting go.

— Oda Sakunosuke

to an overworked friend.

[kingdom0fcards]

Hearts Broken On My Back With The Lights On.

Pairing: Noah Sebastian/Nicholas Ruffilo

Content Warnings: death and mourning

Title from Walking On Gravestones by I See Stars

A/N: I listened to Feel Something by Movements and sobbed when writing this, idk why I'm on a sad fic kick recently but I like them

Noah says he feels like a cold graveyard that no one visits anymore, one that's lost by time and taken back by the earth.

Maybe he's more right than he thinks.

He haunts what he used to know, walking around his apartment like a husk of his former self, going to his room to sulk for hours.

When he does leave, he doesn't come back for hours. No one knows where he goes, they never will.

He visits that graveyard, going to the only gravestone never forgotten. He cleans it, taking the foliage off the stone and scrubbing it so he can read the name. He replaces the flowers every time, every week.

He visits twice a week, sitting on the same patch of grass every time. Noah leans his head on the side of the gravestone, like it's his shoulder and he's still here.

But it's cold and hard. But he's not here.

The stone digs into his skin a bit too much when he hugs it, it's not soft and smooth. Sometimes he gets cuts, blood getting on the stone. Maybe that'll bring him back, like a ritual.

But it doesn't.

His world used to be so bright, so happy, and now his world is rotting in the ground. He's probably a skeleton by now, all the art adorned on his body gone and his beautiful features only captured in old pictures.

He wish he could accept it. He wishes he can accept that he's gone. But he can't.

Noah sobs and tells the stone that he misses him.

"I miss you... I wish you were still around," he takes breathes between his sobbed out sentences, it feels like he's suffocating, "it's our anniversary." his throat feels tight, "happy five years, Nick."

Tears roll down his face as he hugs the stone, accidentally crushing the flowers he brought. Roses were always his favorite, he even tattooed one on Noah. It was painful, getting it on his knee, but it was a fond memory that he'll forever treasure.

They met when they were young, getting together five years after that and laughing at how repressed their emotions for each other were. People said they should've gotten together sooner, oh how right they were.

Noah losing him three years after they got together was the worst thing that's ever happened to him.

It was a day before Valentine's Day. Snow was falling and they were dancing in their kitchen, laughing, unaware of what the phone ringing would do to them. Nick answered, said he had to leave because of an emergency and Noah understood, giving him a kiss goodbye.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

Noah got a call hours later that he died, his world collapsed. He fell to his knees, sobbing and inconsolable, just like how he always is at his gravestone.

His tears stain the top of the stone a darker grey, the droplets disappearing in a bigger sea of the grey as it starts to rain. His tears covered by the droplets of water coming from the dark sky.

He doesn't move, only hugs the grave tighter and only leaving when the graveyard closes. He walks home soaking wet, still sniffling slightly as he walks into his apartment. Going into his room, he gets into his bed, not bothering taking his wet clothes off.

On his nightstand, his phone glows with a new notification but he looks at the picture of his lockscreen, he starts sobbing again.

He misses him so much.

[nothingkillsyoulikeyourmind105]

“Haunted By The Ghost Of Us”

Master List

Tw-Angsty, Maybe A Happy Ending?

The Night We Met

-Lord Huron

TV

-Billie Eilish

Ghost POV

It’s been 3 years since you walked away from me.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Sitting in the pub we always visited. Soap nonstop talks about you like nothing happened. It hurts when he brings you up to Price.

I still hold the polaroid you gave me when we got caught in the rain.

Captain told me that you’re getting married soon.

Walking into his office yesterday I saw the wedding invitation. Your name and the wanker you’re with.

“That should’ve been us”

I think a lot about that day.

It was never your fault.

I should’ve been honest with you and tried to talk to you.

I doubted myself that I wasn’t good enough for you.

You are the moon and stars in my dark world. Your smile is the sunlight to me in my life.

I wish I could take back everything I said to you.

“Take Me Back To The Night We Met”

But the way your eyes looked at me. You saw nothing but a monster.

The way you ran from me.

I feel empty now.

I hope you will one day forgive me.

“I still love you (y/n).”

“I shouldn’t have said what I said?”

The day you requested transfer broke the bit of heart I had left.

“I hope he treats you right”

Drinking the bit of his whiskey. Ghost walks out of the pub back to base. With his hands in his pockets. Walking back in the rain. Looking down at the ground. Blocking out everything and everyone.

Hoping that (y/n) will come back in his life.

Walking back to base.

Sitting in his room. There was a faint smell of your perfume on my hoodies and my bed.

The smell of flowers lingered in our bathroom.

Sometimes before a mission I spray your perfume on my handkerchief that you gave me. I keep that in my vest pocket.

It smells of you.

I can’t let you go.

Not now or ever.

You were my reckoning.

I will walk this path of loneliness. There’s no one out there for me only you.

(Y/N) POV

Standing in front of the mirror thinking about Simon Riley.

How was he doing?

“I miss him so much”

It’s been 3 years since I transferred. Not being part of the 141 has been hard. But I have a wedding to plan. I sent out a few invitations.

I talked to Philip about this and he insisted we send Simon a invite. I just couldn’t see him here. We did always talked about maybe one day getting married.

I shouldn’t be talking about Simon like this.

It’s sad though that the 141 couldn’t make it. They are scheduled to leave for a mission in a few days or hours. I wish Price was here. He’s always been the father figure I needed in my life.

Looking at the wedding photos am I really ready to be Mrs Graves.

“Mrs Riley”

I like the sound of that.

“Oh god i shouldn’t be talking like this especially on my wedding day.”

I can’t believe I’m having second thoughts about this.

Ughh I have to find Graves and help get my nerves settled.

(Y/N) leaves her room to find her future husband.

Just as she rounds the corner to his room she hears giggling.

No that can’t be she’s just hearing things.

There it goes again another giggle.

Barging into the room she finds one of her wedding guest sitting on the desk with her future husband caught with his pants down.

A yelp echos the room as the mystery woman struggles to move away from Graves.

Covering herself back up she hides her face.

Graves quickly pulls his pants up. Struggling to say something he turns to his his future wife standing there with tears in her eyes.

“Sweetie this isn’t-?”

“How could you? We have our wedding in 2 hours and you decide to bury your dick in someone else?”

Before Graves could pull his pants up. (Y/N) walked up to him punching him in the face with her engagement ring.

“Fuck You Graves”

Running out of the room then out of the villa she announced to everyone that the wedding has been called off due to Graves.

She knew what she had to do.

Find Simon Riley.

She had to fix this.

Running with her dress in her hands her tears messed up her makeup.

Catching a ride in a taxi that took her close to the base.

She was in luck the wedding venue was not far from the base that the 141 were stationed at.

Running to the gates she ran into König.

“König!?”

“Maus was machst du gerade?”

“Mouse, What are you doing right now?”

“Where’s Simon?!”

“They’re getting ready to leave?”

Before she could run off König picked her up running with her to the building setting her down she saw them walking to the plane. Taking her heels off she ran to him.

“Might wanna take a look mate?”

Soap nodded to Ghost who was looking at his gear.

Looking up to see (y/n) running to him.

Dropping his gear he ran to her.

“Simon?”

“Don’t speak. I’m sorry I walked away I should’ve stayed and waited till you were ready to talk and about that night you scared me and I shouldn’t have walked away after that argument and I know I shouldn’t have pushed you to tell me what was bothering you?”

“I’m so so so sorry”

“But I love you so much and I can’t get you out of my head. The day I left I was so broken and when Graves entered my life I should’ve tried to talk with you. I didn’t try hard enough and if you don’t want me I will understand”

Standing in front of Simon he was motionless. The silence was all she needed to hear.

He was over her.

Before she could walk away. He grabbed her wrist holding it firmly.

“You have no idea how miserable I’ve been?”

“Bloody Hell look you darling?”

“I only love you and my heart beats for you only”

“I promise you I will be a better man for you and try to open up about myself”

“I love you (y/n)”

“I’m gonna kill Graves for stealing my girl!”

a/n credit to the artist for the gif. Name is label beneath the gif. The picture for this one is unknown but I will search for the source.

[singdreamchild]

Roses on Gravestones

Timing: Early August

Location: Eluria Cemetery

Parties: Cassius @singdreamchild & Xochitl @vanishingreyes

Summary: Cassius goes to leave the crypt, only to run into Xochitl visiting her friend's final resting space. An introspective conversation takes place.

Content warning: Topics of death and grieving

By all accounts, she should have hated graveyards, and she did. Usually. She hated the idea that Mackenzie had been alone for so long, even though Xóchitl was fairly certain she didn’t believe in life after death. There was no way her friend was still walking around anywhere.

Still, there was a weird sort of comfort to cemeteries, and at least there, people weren’t likely to bother her too much. It was a welcome antidote to the sheer amount of talking and solving of others’ problems that she had to do all day.

She’d found that sometimes bringing flowers to often-left-alone graves, since returning to town. Xóchitl figured it had to have been because she hoped that after everything, after two decades (plus), people still treated Mackenzie’s grave with respect. That maybe her favorite duck plush was still there, or had been replaced with a newer version.

She heard a crunch as she was laying down the flowers of the day (carnations), and Xóchitl turned around to see who was behind her, far too much of a part of her longing for it to somehow be her friend, claiming that everything had all been a joke.

This was the second time that Cassius had found someone too close for comfort at the crypt he spent his time in. At least this time it wasn’t a student, right? Before he gave himself away, he had noticed the woman laying flowers at a grave of someone who had passed away long ago. The crunch of the branch under his foot gave him away before he could leave without being detected. Damn, he really had to get better at his sneaking abilities. Cursing under his breath, he gave a polite smile to the woman. “Apologies, I did not mean to distract you from your mourning.” He spoke in a soft tone, smile going from polite to awkward in a few short moments. 

He wanted to keep walking, but something rooted him in place. He didn’t know what to say, to ask who they were to them, but that felt too personal. “I often come here to read. I find that the dead still deserve to have company.” He found himself saying instead, shifting his feet slightly so he didn’t appear so stock-still. Sometimes it was hard to remember to look as though he were alive. 

Cassius then looked to the flowers, nodding slightly. “Red carnations. They symbolize love and affection.” He noted, remembering the period in his life when he had fixated on flowers and their meanings. His sire had gone through a lot of bouquets of flowers in that time period, he wondered if he had ever appreciated it. Unsure if the woman intended the meaning behind them, he realized it was a rather odd thing to bring up. “I uh, used to study flower meanings when I was younger.” He then explained with a brief smile.

“Oh - no, not mourning. I was merely visiting a grave to ensure that whomever is buried here does not feel alone. Which may sound silly, but it is what I have chosen to do, and so I’d prefer to not hear ridicule.” Xóchitl knew logically that she shouldn’t lie, and yet it felt all too easy to do so. Better than having someone ask questions about why she was visiting the grave of a child, twenty years after the date marked on the stone.

“I find the same. Besides, there is something comforting about cemeteries. It makes the dead feel as though they aren’t as far away as we might think they are.” It sounded like something she’d heard manman’s mom say, once, about someone in her running club. Either way, Xóchitl was still hesitant to let her guard down, but there was something that she could do, and that was offer the stranger a smile, and a gesture to join her, if he so wished.

“That they do - did you really? Can I ask what your favorite flower and meaning is? Or top five, if choosing one is too difficult to do?”

Cassius nodded his head in understanding as the woman explained herself. “A kindred spirit then,” he said in response. “I often find that there are people here who never have flowers, some stones are more worse for wear than the others, those are the ones I choose to visit.” He explained as he put a hand onto the stone of the individual she had chosen to visit. 

“I am Cassius,” he introduced with a soft bow of his head. “I often find comfort in a quote from Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughter-House Five.” He spoke, eyes distant as he began to recite a passage. “When a person dies he only appears to die. He is still very much alive in the past, so it is very silly for people to die at his funeral. All moments past, present, and future, always have existed, always will exist.” He gave a sad smile for a moment, remembering all the people he had met in his life that got to die when he was stuck in a state of undeath. 

He took her invitation and sat down beside her. “I like the Forget-me-not.” He began with a nod. “It symbolizes true love and memories.” He explained with a simple shrug of his shoulders. “There is also the Greek story behind the hyacinth flower.” He spoke, pressing a finger to his chin as he recalled the tale. “A young Spartan prince that was loved by the Greek god Apollo was struck down by Zephyrus of the West Winds in jealousy. Unable to heal him, Apollo instead turned his body into the hyacinth flower, inscribing the petals with his love for him.” He shook his head, realizing he was rambling on about flowers. “Apologies, I tend to get lost in thought when I talk about things I find passion in.”

“Kindred spirit indeed,” she gave a slight nod of her head. “Yes, I find it sad if a stone is left to get too dirty, or if it looks neglected, though I suppose there comes the chance of a time when no one who knew the person is still around.” Which wasn’t such a pleasant thought at all, and one that Xóchitl did her best to rid herself of the first chance she had.

“I’m Xóchitl,” she responded in turn, “pleasure to meet you, even if it’s not in the most standard of ways.” There was something immediately comforting about his presence, despite him being a complete stranger. “That is a good quote – and — well, I’m sorry to have not been entirely truthful before. I do visit graves of those I don’t know but I - I did know her.” She looked down. “She was my best friend.” Her shoulders dropped, her typical sure sort of stance gone. “I am sorry for not telling you the truth. You are just so kind, so I couldn’t keep lying to you, even if it was only a small lie.”

He claimed apologies for getting lost in his passions, and Xóchitl only shook her head. “That is hardly something to apologize for, I think. I love hearing about what others are passionate about. Are you a florist, or is this simply a passion project of yours?”

His face fell as she spoke about the grave in particular. That she was important to this woman he now knew to be Xóchitl. “I am sorry for your loss.” He spoke, laying a hand down on the top of the stone, as if comforting it. “You have no reason to be sorry,” he began as he looked over to her. “Death is a personal thing. Sometimes it feels too vulnerable to admit the truth. As if speaking it aloud makes it more real.” He gave a sad smile, something he knew from personal experience with living as long as he had. 

“Simply a passion of mine from younger years.” He explained with a shrug of his left shoulder. “The information stuck and never truly left my mind.” He explained with a roll of his eyes at himself. He didn’t share that he had learned this in, quite literally, a different lifetime. Back in a world that no longer existed, where technology wasn’t even thought of, and people communicated their feelings in terms of flowers and hand-written notes.

“I am still sorry, but thank you – for your kindness, and for everything else.” Because he hadn’t had to say any of that, and yet he had, yet he’d stayed so kind, so giving, and just pleasant to talk to. Which wasn’t something Xóchitl always found around here. Or around anywhere, were she honest. “I would’ve thought I’d be used to it by now, but yes, I think you are right.” She offered him a cautious, sad smile back.

“A very neat sort of passion, if I might say so myself.” She nodded. “I think it’s kind of lovely, to be able to tell emotions or stories or any such thing without using spoken words, or even written words. Without words at all.” Xóchitl ran her fingertips along the top of Mackenzie’s grave. “Would a bouquet then show a whole range of things to say? If each flower means something different.”

Cassius felt a pang of sadness for the woman. He remembered when he had lost his mother, the last of his family to pass away and finally leaving him truly alone with no one but his sire to call family. He had gone back to England to check on her every now and again, and the last time he went, he had found that the house they had lived in was then occupied by someone else. He had went to the cemetery where his father was buried, only to find her tombstone next to his. He had never gotten to say goodbye. He frowned, a wave of understanding washing over him. “We live in a culture that does not talk about death. I find it rather normal to not get used to it. Such is the nature of grief.” 

He thought for a moment, the idea of a bouquet of flowers portraying all the things that he couldn’t say out loud, all hidden into different meanings. “I would imagine it would be a beautiful message to send, even if the recipient didn’t fully understand its meaning.” He had given flowers before, only for the message to be lost on deaf ears. He gave a sad smile to the woman. “I apologize for interrupting your mourning.” Cassius then said, taking a step away, not wanting to overstep.

“You make a very good point,” she began, “but still. It happened when I was little. It shouldn’t still impact me so much now.” Even though Xóchitl knew that that wasn’t entirely true. It just somehow, for some reason, felt better to say, even if it was a lie. Which was probably not great, but she’d gotten so used to telling white lies at this point that she was able to shrug it off perhaps more easily than she should have been able to.

“Oh, that does sound lovely, though I suppose I might only want to give them if someone knew the meaning. Otherwise I would just send a bouquet of their favorites.” Xóchitl shook her head, “not interrupting at all. It is rather nice to not be alone, but I am sorry if I’ve interrupted yours.”

Cassius shook his head at the woman’s notion of getting over it. “Please. I’ve lost people many years ago that still effect me to this day.” He insisted, waving a hand through the air. “Just because they left us, doesn’t mean the pain goes away as time goes on. You just learn how to cope with it better. That doesn’t mean there are times when the grief doesn’t take its hold.” He thought back to his family, he had lost them in the 1800s, now it was the 21st century but he still thought about it from time to time. 

“You have not. I simply go for a stroll through the cemetery.” At night. And he doesn’t leave. Oh yes, and he happens to live in the nearby crypt. All things he was thinking about burt didn’t dare to say aloud. “I come rather often,” Cassius confessed, shrugging his shoulders. “I shall bring her flowers from time to time, now that I know she’s here.” He then spoke, a soft smile on his lips that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I shall let you be. I should get back home.” He spoke, gesturing towards the exit of the cemetery, pretending as if he didn’t live in the cemetery. “We shall see each other again, I’m sure.” He spoke, tilting his head to the side with a sly smile. “After all, it’s a smaller town than we give it credit for.”

“I am sorry to hear that,” she offered, genuine. “That’s true – I suppose, or I’ve heard that said enough times that I think it must be.” Or at least, for the time being, Xóchitl could believe it. Even if a good part of her didn’t want to, or fought back and refused to. “You grow around your grief, not away from it.” That was something that some therapist had said to her at one point or another. Probably while they asked her to draw some picture and she drew one of what had to have been hundreds of her and Mackenzie, or her, alone.

None of those had ever ended up on her parents’ fridge. She’d torn them up, many times, crying and screaming about it all. Because the pictures were just a wish, they weren’t real, and it wasn’t good to stare at them all the time. She did that enough with the actual photos she had of her and her best friend. “Okay, it is a beautiful place to stroll through.” Even if Xóchitl was a bit curious about why someone would so willingly and easily go on a stroll through this place. “Thank you. She’s not picky, but she also loves colors and just anything pretty. Even dandelions.” She worried her lip for a moment, desperately wanting her friend back, desperately doing all she could to not cry. “Yes, I’ll – we’ll be – I’ll see you again, I’m sure.” Even if his knowing anything about Mackenzie made part of her never want to see him again.

But maybe it could be something of some sort of comfort, somehow. “I’m glad she’ll have someone else looking after her, too.”

[finelinevogue]

Maybe do number 29 for the angst anon?

well you certainly know how the recipe to make people sad!

29: Leaving flowers at their grave.

Summer had never felt so cold.

349 days had gone by and yet every one of them had felt grey. There was no more yellow, or orange or green. No colours, no rainbow. Just grey.

Moving one foot infront of the other was hard. It was effort and it felt unnecessary. It was becoming harder and harder to find a reason to wake up each morning and begin a new day that would be the same yesterday. Then it was even harder going to bed, knowing that tomorrow was going to be just like today.

It was an endless dreaded cycle of grey.

There was nothing to look forward to. Nothing to smile over. Nothing to inspire even a dash of colour. Nothing. The world felt empty. As empty as the hole of a heart that once beat for love, but now just beat to survive.

Harry knew that you wouldn't want this for him. He didn't like thinking that you could see him like this - an eternal cloud of grey. But that's who he had become. He was the shell of a man now. His colour and his light had left with you, journeying to a peaceful unknown.

"Hi, my love." Harry stood at your grave, like he did every Thursday.

He used to visit your grave twice every day. Then once a day. His therapist had managed to convince him to try only twice a week and now he was back here again for his weekly Thursday visit.

To anyone else, it was weird that it was always a Thursday but to Harry it made sense. You used to hate Thursdays. They claimed Wednesday was hump day, but because you also worked a Saturday shift your hump day was in fact a Thursday. It was also the best day of the week, because it was the worst. Harry would extra love on you, cook for you, kiss on you. He would do anything for you.

He still wished he could.

"It's Thursday. I brought you your favourites." He laid down your favourite flowers on your gravestone.

Y/N Styles

A champion who never gave up her fight.

Loved by all.

It was hard for Harry to look over the words without crying still. He hadn't moved on, no matter what he told his therapist. He wouldn't ever move on and he wasn't even sure that he wanted to.

You had been it for him. You had been his person and he refused to believe anything other than that. There was no point in moving on from you because there was no other you. He didn't want anyone else. He wanted you, dammit.

"Your mum called, again. She asked how you're doing." Harry chuckled to himself. "It's getting harder and harder to pretend with her that you're still here. She thinks that you've been baking brownies again. Just for her. Y/N, I had to learn how to make brownies just in case she remembers."

Your mum suffered from dementia, but it was very selective. There were bits of her life she remembered and there parts she completely forgot. You, for example, still existed - you still shone out your colours - so she'd ask Harry when you'd visit. He'd always tell her the next day. "She'll come tomorrow, Angie." He told your mum that, but really he was saying it to himself in hope that you would listen and walk back through the front door.

Each time though, the door stayed closed.

"They were pretty shit, the brownies. I blame you. You never did tell me that secret ingredient." Harry sadly smiled, before crouching down in front of your gravestone.

He ran his fingers over your name as if it was the only part of you that he could still touch.

"I miss you. And I still love you. Always will."

[oddaodd]

· I Don't Go In For Sweets ·

Request: by a lovely anon "set after the events of season 3. Tommy can't handle the company, he's still grieving and he has to be there for Charlie so Polly tells him she knows a girl from a good family to get married He ends up agreeing (aunt Pol can be very persuasive) but even though he's married, this new girl isn't considered as a wife. He doesn't really make any effort but his "wife" understands, he's a widowed father who lost his first wife only a year ago. However since they are...in this, she wants to make her time as enjoyable as possible for the both of them and for Charlie too. But no matter what Tommy makes it a point of honor to not let her in, to not let her replace Grace so he ignores her, he works more, tries to spend as little as possible in the house. Reader stays patient, it will be alright and Charlie is making her quite busy anyway. One night, Tommy comes home completely drunk and maybe a bit high too, he can't even make it to his office. Thankfully Reader is still awake, she takes care of him and Tommy just...melts at how gentle Reader is, he may be able to keep his distant while sober but it's much harder in his state. He admits to her how he's been feeling and all. Ever since that night, something changed, Tommy feels some comfort, some solace being around her, she accepts him wholly, even his flaws, the bad side of his business and she tries to provide some sort of safe place for when it gets too hard." (I edited the request because it was very long, but I kept all essential parts in there)

Author’s note: I loved loved loved writing this and it ended up being SUPER long, but I’m very happy with how it turned out. As always, I hope you like it and have the loveliest of days!

Warnings: season 3 SPOILERS sort of, but not really, still read at your own risk. Arranged marriage, mentions of alcohol and drugs, angst.

·

“Thomas, you may not be able to see it, but you’re breaking apart” Polly spoke with a sigh as she lit a cigarette after everyone was dismissed from a family meeting.

Everyone had left Tommy’s office in arrow house rather gaily after receiving their fair compensations for partaking in the whole Russian ordeal, all except Polly, who remained where she sat, wishing for a word with her nephew

Tommy merely scoffed at her concern before lighting his own cigarette and taking a puff “I’ll be alright”

“And Charlie?” Pol pressed knowing Tommy’s mourning was not only affecting him, but Charlie as well. “What about him?”

“He’s fine” He said before turning around to look through the window, ignoring his Aunt’s heavy stare.

“You take too much after your mother” she sighed half angry half sad “she too loved pretending everything was alright and I don’t need to remind you where that lead her”

Tommy sighed deeply, he knew he could fool anyone. Anyone but Polly. “We’ll manage”

“Consider my offer” Polly said standing up and making her way to the door “Y/n is a good girl from a good family” she persuaded before leaving the room.

Tommy sighed at his Aunt’s words, he wasn’t ready to get married again even when he knew the woman he would be marrying was a nice one. He felt like he was spitting on Grace’s grave and he hated himself for even considering the prospect, but he knew a mother figure would be good for Charlie.

He spent the rest of the day pondering about Polly’s suggestion and remembering his own childhood in the shadow of the absent tortured presence that his mother had been. It didn’t take him long to decide he didn’t want that for Charlie, so that same night he phoned Polly.

“I’ll do it” was all he said before hanging up. There was no need for more words, Polly would know exactly what he meant.

Exactly a week later, Tom was standing in the altar of a church that was significantly smaller than the one from his first wedding. The fact that everything about this wedding was so obscenely different from his first did soothe his guilt a bit. And as he stood there he couldn’t keep his mind from traveling to the days leading up to his wedding to Grace. She had made sure everything was perfect and had made an effort to invite every single relative she could think of. She remembered her rambling on an on about fabrics, insisting that everything ought to be perfect when he in all honestly couldn’t care less, he just wanted to marry her.

All his thoughts vanished away with a poof when Y/n came into sight. And what a sight she was. She had insisted on doing her own makeup and on pinning flowers to her hair to compliment her headpiece and her elegant, yet simple white dress flowed almost mystically as her father gave her away. She had never imagined she would be marrying someone she didn’t know, but she wanted to look her best for getting married is not something people do everyday.

When she stood in the altar, she offered her to be husband a smile which he did not return, instead turning his attention to the priest before them. She mirrored his actions, her heart beating violently under her chest as the priest began speaking.

It all felt like a blur, she could swear it had only been a second since her father had given her away and yet, the priest had already uttered the dreaded “you may now kiss the bride”

Tommy barely brushed his lips against hers and soon the sound of everyone clapping invaded her ears. They had a small party afterwards in Y/n’s former house. Her parents had invited pretty much all of their acquaintances while tommy had only invited his close relatives.

When night fell Tommy was more than ready to leave “Are you ready to go?” was one of the few sentences he uttered to his now wife that night.

She again offered him a smile before saying “yeah just let me say goodbye”

The drive to arrow house was tense, although Y/n didn’t know Thomas very well she would tell he was unhappy. She wondered about what to say to him, but couldn’t come up with anything good enough and soon enough they were pulling over in front of Tommy’s stately home.

“Charlie must already be asleep, but I'll introduce you tomorrow” he said opening Y/n’s door for her.

“It’s alright” she said looking at him, not quite knowing what to do next.

“Your parents sent some of your belongings, I've already asked the maids to take them up to your-our room” he said

“Thank you, Thomas” she smiled as she walked into the big house not yet feeling close enough to him to call him Tommy.

His name falling from her lips caused an echo of bittersweet emotions to stir inside him but he masked it perfectly well as she introduced Y/n to the maids that went to the door to take their coats.

“Frances here will show you the way to the room” he said after having made introductions.

“This way, Mrs” Frances politely said.

Y/n began following her but stopped when she didn’t hear Tommy’s footsteps behind her own.

“Are you not coming?” she asked turning to look at him.

“Maybe in a bit” was all he said before he walked away down one of the many spacious hallways of the house.

After Y/n made herself comfortable in the room and changed into her nightgown she took the time to peek around the room like one always does when one is a strange place. After familiarizing herself with it she laid down in the big bed. She was nervous, she knew what happened on wedding nights. A small chuckle stopped at her lips when she recalled the stories her close already married girlfriends told her. If she hadn’t married a complete stranger she too would be looking forward to it.

Her thoughts ended up luring her to sleep after a while despite her nerves and the night went by in a ridiculously fast flash. The next morning she woke up alone and after getting ready she made her way downstairs. Tommy and Charlie were already in the dining room when she entered it.

“good morning” she said

Charlie immediately turned his attention to her, his eyes widening while his dad merely glanced at her while he muttered a “Good morning “ of his own.

Y/n sat down next to Tommy while he cleared his throat “charles, this is Y/n. We got married yesterday so she’ll be living with us from now on”

Charlie merely nodded in understanding before playing around with his food.

A tense air flooded breakfast until Tommy stood up, having barely touched his food and spoke turning to look at Y/n “I have to go now, if you need anything feel free to ask Frances”

“Alright” Y/n replied feeling a bit disappointed, she would love to get to know him, but she already knew it was going to be difficult.

“I have to go too” Charlie announced in a timid voice, interrupting Y/n’s thoughts. Despite her disappointment she understood, maybe he was just shy and his dad just reticent. They had lost a wife and a mother after all.

The first few days after that, Charlie avoided her nearly as much as his father did and Y/n remained in lonely patience until one night Charlie’s cries interrupted her focus on the book that she had just bought. She rushed to his room and called out his name as she entered not knowing if the boy would be comfortable with her or not.

“What is it?” she asked worried as she knelt by his bed.

“I miss my mum” the boy confessed looking at her with teary eyes as he clutched his blanket.

Y/n felt her heart give a small ache at his confession and in an attempt to comfort him she spoke “She’s not really gone, you know?”

“She’s dead” the boy sobbed.

“but people who die, don’t leave us. Not really anyhow” she said hesitantly rubbing his arm. “just because we cant see them doesn’t mean they are not here”

“I miss seeing her” he continued.

“Oh but you can still see her”

“how”

“before you go to bed just think about her, then she’ll visit you in your dreams” Y/n spoke as if she was telling a fairy tale.

“really?” the boy’s eyes widened.

“really” Y/n confirmed “But you have to think really really hard”

“I’ll try” Charlie said having calmed down a bit.

“very well” Y/n said as she stood up, but Charlie’s voice stopped her.

“can you stay till I fall asleep?”

After that night, Charlie hardly left Y/n’s side and she felt much better with his company for she was sure if he wasn’t there keeping her on her toes all day she would fall into a depressive chasm induced by her husband’s absence.

On the rare moments he was home she tried to strike up conversation with him over breakfast or late at night when he came home and she was burdened by insomnia. But Tommy only humored her with a few short responses before excusing himself or turning to face the other side of the bed.

It wasn’t only the fact that he avoided her as much as he could, but he also made it a priority to exclude her at all times. She was never invited into family meetings or night’s at The Garrison so she thought it was a miracle when tommy didn’t oppose to her planning Charlie’s birthday party.

She invited only Tommy’s family which instantly warmed up to her, noticing what a good influence she was and Polly wanted to slap Thomas for the way he had been acting throughout his marriage to Y/n. Almost feeling guilty for getting her into this mess.

When the party ended Tommy shut himself in his office like he often did when he was at home and though he had never given Y/n a reason to believe she was welcome in there of all places, she found herself allowing herself in after putting Charlie to bed.

Tommy looked up as she entered and let out a sigh before turning his attention back to some papers he had been reading.

“I noticed you didn’t have any” she commented not letting his sigh deflate her as she laid a plate with a slice of homemade chocolate cake on his desk. “it’s really good if I may say so myself” she mused sitting down in a chair opposite to his as she dug in with a fork in her own slice.

“I don’t go in for sweets” he stated.

“Not even chocolate?” Y/n tried, but tommy didn’t answer, instead he just shook his head.

“I still think you should try it, it’s not overly sweet, and…”

“is there anything you need?” he interrupted bluntly a bit harsher than he would’ve liked.

His tone caught her off guard and when she couldn’t come up with an answer tommy again turned his attention back to his papers.

“I wish you could let me in” She softly confessed after a few tense seconds.

“Well I wish we hadn’t married but I guess things don’t always go the way we want them to go”

Tommy knew he had crossed a line by the silence that again settled into the room. He looked up at Y/n with her parted lips and misty eyes. They exchanged glances for a second but instead of allowing him to see her like that any longer, she stood up setting her plate on his desk and walked away, only allowing a few tears to drop by when she was out of the room and his sight.

After that she stopped trying to get closer to him. He still loved his late wife and she understood, people in grief never mean what they say after all, but his words stung nonetheless.

She stopped trying to wait for him at night to see if he had gotten home alright and during breakfast she only uttered polite good mornings.

One night however, Y/n was yanked out of a peaceful sleep by a loud crash. She was on her feet in no time and after checking into Charlie’s room to see if he was alright she cautiously ventured downstairs. A few incoherent mumbles filled her ears before her husband came into sight, fumbling with his coat to get it off.

“need help?” she asked earning his attention.

“I’m fine” he said finally taking it off but as he went to take a step to begin walking the floor under him moved and he lost his balance, his knees crashing loudly against the wooden floor.

Y/n offered him a hand and helped him up. He smelled of whiskey and cigarettes, his hands were shaky, consequence of the snow, no doubt. “let’s get you upstairs”

“I can do it on me own” he slurred letting go of her hand.

“stop being so stubborn” she derided, snaking one of her arms around his waist as she helped him upstairs.

Y/n helped him into bed, tookoff his shoes and went to the bathroom to fetch a small towel and some cold water.

She dampened the towel with the cold water before dabing it gently on Tommy’s forehead. His eyes never leaving her face as she did so, making her grow a bit nervous. She continued, trying her best to ignore it until she felt his hand softly caressing her cheek.

“You are beautiful” he rasped.

“Stop it, Thomas” she said feeling her cheeks grow red when she felt a bit sad that he had to be completely drunk to compliment her.

Even in his drunken state he seemed to notice he was making her uncomfortable so he held his tongue until Y/n laid in bed next to him after turning on the lights.

“I’m sorry” he interrupted the silence “For the way I’ve been acting” the whiskey and cocaine making him more vulnerable and open “I guess I was afraid that if I let you in then she would disappear”

He didn’t expect her to answer, but then her voice came in a soft exhausted tone“ I don’t intend to replace her. You don’t need to act all defensive and secretive. Even if it’s not what you wanted, we are married.”

“I Know” was all he said.

Y/n expected him to withdraw more from her after showing himself that vulnerable to her that night but she was wrong. He began arriving home earlier, sometimes even asking if he could come along on the walks she and Charlie so much adored going on. And Y/n finally felt her marriage was going somewhere maybe it wasn’t based on love yet, but it was something.

One day she was at the stables while Charlie was taking a nap. She had always adored horses.

“I didn’t know you liked horses” came Tommy’s smooth voice causing her to jump.

“You never asked” she smiled petting a black horse as he walked closer to her.

“We could go out for a ride, I’m sure Charlie wouldn’t mind letting you borrow his horse” Tommy offered as he too began to pet the horse, his fingers brushing against Y/n’s for a brief second.

“I’d love to, but I am afraid I don’t know how to ride, Tommy” she said, panicking for a second after having called him that. But she rested assured as soon as he spoke again.

“Well that can be fixed” he said opening the door of the stall and guiding the horse outside.

“You mean now?” Y/n asked with a laugh.

“Got something better to do?” he asked walking out of the stable with the horse. Y/n observed tommy as he prepared the horse. She had never seen him so gentle and calm before and she only realized she had been staring when Tommy directed his attention to her to ask her if she was ready.

“I think so” she said going to stand next to the horse wondering how the hell to climb up. But before she had any more time to think she felt Tommy’s hands on her waist giving her a push that allowed her to pull herself up on the animal. It was a good thing she had chosen to wear slacks that day, she thought.

“Goodness this is high” she said nervously looking down at Tommy when he began guiding the horse to move in a slow walk.

“Don’t worry, I won’t let you fall” he promised repressing a mirthful tone at her nervousness.

He guided the horse with her around the property in the crisp evening air and Y/n allowed herself to relax with every step the horse took. Tommy’s presence made her feel safe and protected and she found it increasingly harder to look away from his figure. She wondered if he could feel her eyes on him.

When the sky began turning soft shades of purple and orange the pair returned to the stables. When the time came from Y/n to come down from the horse, tommy helped her again. Y/n began to love the feeling of him touching her and when her feet touched the ground in front of Thomas, he didn’t remove his hands from her waist right away and instead fixed his blue eyes on her, not wanting to stop looking at her.

She too fixed her eyes on Tommy as she felt a silent gasp in the base of her throat. That was the way she would’ve liked him to look at her on their wedding day. Tommy then leaned in, almost as if he were asking for permission before he tenderly pressed his lips to Y/n’s.

·

@captivatedbycillianmurphy @peakyxtommy @nyotamalfoy @writeroutoftime @babylooneytoonz @slytherinicequeen @lilymurphy03