#ive been really sick the past two weeks so my apartment has slowly become a disaster + roommate has been in town and hes really messy

[beancalzone]

Ill be damned that emergency cleaning guide from the other day really did unfuck my apartment

[king-finnigan]

5 times Jaskier got sick and 1 time Geralt did

As part of my 500 followers celebration! Masterlist!

CW: being sick, vomiting

***

I.

He sneezes, and Geralt looks at him with narrowed eyes. “Are you getting sick?”

Jaskier scoffs, shakes his head, and continues prodding at the fire. “No.” He sneezes again. “Okay, maybe.”

“Hmm.”

He frowns. “Ooh, now that’s a ‘hmm’ I haven’t heard before. What does it mean?”

Geralt rolls his eyes and looks away, as Jaskier sneezes again. “It means I’m not going to take care of you if you get sick.”

Jaskier sneezes again. “Yeah, I figured that much.” He rubs at his eyes, which are slightly swollen from all the sneezing. “I’ll just firmly tell my body not to get sick, then. That always works.”

“Hmm.” He recognizes that one as a slightly amused ‘hmm’, and he smiles in triumph. Over the past few years, it has become a bit of a personal challenge to make Geralt laugh or smile as much as possible, and, while low on the tier list of ‘how amused is Geralt of Rivia?’, an amused ‘hmm’ is better than nothing. At least it’s better than an unamused ‘hmm’.

Like the one he gets, now, when he suddenly dissolves into a bout of coughing. “It’s fine,” he chokes out when he finally regains his breath. “Not getting sick.”

“We’re stopping at the next inn. You’ll stay there until you get better, and I’ll get some contracts.”

He wants to whine, tell Geralt he’s fine and he’s coming along with these contracts, but when he starts coughing again, he can’t help but admit that the Witcher is right. Though, when Geralt leaves him behind at the inn the next day, he finds himself wishing Geralt would stay.

 II.

He’s performing ‘Toss a Coin’ when he sneezes. The audience laughs, and he plays it off as a joke, making fun of himself, so the audience won’t, before he continues with his song. After he’s done, he graciously accepts his payment and a pint of ale, before he saunters over to the corner of the tavern, sitting down opposite Geralt.

“You sneezed,” is the first thing the Witcher says to him.

“Hello, Jaskier, what a lovely performance, Jaskier, thank you for paying for our dinner tonight, Jaskier,” he says in a mock-gruff voice. He sighs, rolls his eyes. “Really, Geralt, we talked about your conversational skills.”

“You sneezed.”

He dramatically lifts his hands. “So what? People sneeze all the time! It’s dusty in here, Witcher.”

“Your voice is rough.”

“Yes, that’s what you get for performing for three hours straight. You’re welcome, by the way.” He plonks his full coin pouch on the table, gesturing at it, eyebrows in his hairline.

“You’re snotty.”

“Well, now you’re just being downright insulting, Geralt. After all these years of me traveling by your side, and you have the audacity-“

“Jaskier. I can tell you’re getting sick.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not.”

“It’s fine.”

Geralt looks at him, blinking slowly, almost lazily. His expression is almost bored, but Jaskier can tell from the little muscle that’s pulling at his lips, that the Witcher is getting annoyed. “Hmm.” Now that’s an ‘I don’t believe you for shit but I’m tired of arguing’-hmm, he can tell.

“Alright, maybe it’s not fine.” He points at Geralt. “But don’t you dare leave me at an inn again, like last time.”

“Why not?”

Cause it hurt my feelings, and I would love for you to take care of me when I’m sick. “I don’t want to miss out on any contracts and potential inspiration.”

“Hmm.” An ‘I can tell you’re lying’-hmm.

He simply changes the subject, for now, and hopes he doesn’t get sick in the next couple of days. He thanks all his lucky stars when he doesn’t.

 III.

He tries to keep quiet as he leans one hand against the tree, the other on his stomach as he retches, emptying the contents of his stomach in the leaves. He must’ve eaten something bad, or caught a stomach bug. He decides it doesn’t really matter, though, as another wave of nausea rolls over him. He gags again, trying to not make any sound.

Of course, it doesn’t work, and he soon hears Geralt’s voice behind him. “Jaskier.”

He closes his eyes, trying to keep down the bile that rises in his throat. “I’m fine.” The clipped and strained sound of his voice begs to differ.

“Hmm.” A ‘not even Roach would believe that’-hmm. Then: “Are you done?”

He holds up a finger, chokes down one last gag, before he stands up straight, wiping his mouth with a handkerchief. “I’m fine, let’s go.”

He turns around to find Geralt frowning at him, confused. “No.”

“What do you mean, ‘no’?”

“No. We’re not going anywhere but back to camp.”

He sighs. “I’m fine! We can go to the next town, don’t worry about it.”

“Hmm.” He narrows his eyes. Once again a ‘hmm’ he can’t identify. Strange. “Come on, Jaskier.”

He sighs, but follows Geralt back to camp, laying down on his bedroll when the Witcher motions at it. He does have to admit, laying down makes him feel a lot better, and pretty soon he finds himself dozing off to the rhythmic sound of Geralt sharpening his blades.

When he wakes in the morning, the Witcher gives him a piece of… some sort of root. “Ginger,” the Witcher explains roughly. “Helps.”

Jaskier shrugs and eats it. It doesn’t taste entirely pleasant, but it does make him feel better, and by midday, he’s ready to set out on the road again.

 IV.

“You’re limping.”

Jaskier rolls his eyes. “No, I’m not.”

“Hmm.” Another ‘I don’t believe you’-hmm. “What’s wrong with your leg?”

Jaskier stops walking when he no longer hears Roach’s hooves on the dusty path behind him, and he turns around. “Nothing! It’s really fine, there’s nothing going on. I appreciate you worrying, though, it’s very endearing.”

“Jaskier.”

He sighs, then shrugs. “Okay, maybe I got a cut on my leg last week that healed badly. So what? I assure you I’m perfectly fine, Witcher.” He starts stammering when Geralt dismounts Roach, stalking towards him. “A- and there is absolutely no reason for you to walk towards me, in- in a vaguely threatening manner- Geralt!”

He lets out an angry huff when the Witcher bends down, yanking the leg of his breeches up. “Hmm.” An ‘I’m very angry right now, but not at you’-hmm. “It’s infected.”

He shrugs again, pointedly looking everywhere but the reddened skin that surrounds the cut. “It’s fine. Nothing to worry about, r-really, and-“

He scrunches his face in confusion when Geralt lays a hand against his forehead. “You’ve got a fever. Get on Roach.”

“Geralt, as much as I have longed for you to say those three words for the past ten years, I assure you I’m perfectly fine.”

“Get. On. Roach.”

He holds his hands up in defeat. “Alright, alright! Melitele’s tits, Geralt, if I’d known you’d kick up such a fuss over a simple flesh wound, I would’ve been more careful.”

“Hmm. You should be.”

He sighs, rolls his eyes, as he climbs on Roach. Geralt climbs on the horse behind him, and Jaskier tries to fight the furious blush that starts spreading across his cheeks at the feeling of Geralt’s chest against his back. They set out to the nearest town, where the Witcher gets a room at the inn and drags him to the herbalist for something against the infection.

The ointment the old lady gives them works wonders, and within two days, the infection has cleared.

 V.

It’s hard to breathe. Harder to move. Opening his eyes for more than two seconds isn’t even an option, anymore, and every time he does manage to pry his eyelids apart, the world is swimming around him, making bile rise in his throat. He’s hot. No- he’s cold. But now he’s hot again, and he’s sweating, but he’s also shivering, and good gods, what did he do to deserve this?

He sighs when he feels something cold and wet and rough against his forehead, seeping away some of the heat. He doesn’t know whether the droplet that slides down the side of his head is sweat or water, but he decides it doesn’t matter when a bout of coughing wracks through his body.

He’s tired, he’s so bloody tired, but he can’t fall asleep when the temperature keeps changing from hot to cold to hot again, when his lungs keep constricting in his chest pathetically, making him cough and wheeze, desperate for any gulp of air he manages to suck in. The shivering becomes uncontrollable, unbearable, even though he’s sweating, still. He finally manages to pry open his eyes, finding the room around him blurry and dark. He looks around, desperate for anything recognizable, anything that doesn’t give him the feeling that he’s floating in a vast ocean of his own goddamn sweat. Finally, he finds something silver, to his right.

“Geralt,” he manages to croak out, desperately gasping for breath soon afterwards.

“I’m here.” He could cry at that familiar voice, and he might actually be, when he feels another droplet slide down the side of his head.

“I feel like shit.”

“Hmm.” And amused ‘hmm’. But slightly worried as well. “Go to sleep, Jaskier.”

“It hurts.” It does. Everything hurts. His muscles hurt, his lungs hurt, his head hurts, his eyes hurt. It fucking hurts.

Someone wipes his sweaty hair away from his forehead, knuckles trailing down his cheek lightly, and he figures someone else must be in the room because Geralt would never be this gentle with him. It’s already a bloody miracle he’s still here, really. “I know, Jaskier. I know. Try to sleep. You’ll feel better when you wake up.”

“Will you be there? When I wake up?”

“Hmm.” That’s a ‘yes’-hmm.

He sighs, his lungs aching. “Good. Cause I don’t want to wake up at all if you’re not there.” His eyes drift closed again, and he finds himself slipping into unconsciousness.

---

When he wakes up, he finds Geralt next to the bed, stuffed into an entirely too small chair, asleep. No way the position he’s in is comfortable – his neck craned at an awkward angle, his back barely supported by the hard wood. But he’s there, just as he had promised to Jaskier.

The bard smiles, and reaches out, pushing at Geralt’s knee. The Witcher wakes, amber eyes widening when he sees Jaskier. He immediately bends forward, laying his hand against Jaskier’s forehead, eyes studying his face. “How are you feeling?”

“A bit better.” He smiles. “You’re here.”

“I told you I would be.”

He laughs softly, eyes drifting closed again, sleep pulling at him limbs. “That, you did.” He shivers, the heat of the fever no longer keeping him warm. “Geralt, I’m cold.”

“There are no more blankets.”

He pouts, reaches out, eyes still closed. “You’re warm.”

He hears a long-suffering sigh, then the creaking of the chair. Footsteps across the room. He feels the dip of the bed behind him, feels strong arms closing around him, and he sighs in content, before frowning. “Won’t you get sick?”

“Witchers don’t get sick.”

“Okay,” he whispers, before falling asleep in Geralt’s arms.

---

By the time they finally leave the inn, several days later, neither of them has mentioned what happened, and Jaskier doubts either of them will.

 + I

He doesn’t think much of it when Geralt coughs a few times. He does find it strange when it happens more and more in the next few days. He grows suspicious when a fine sheen of sweat appears on the Witcher’s forehead, even if he says he’s fine and tells Jaskier to stop fussing over him like that, he’s just hot, is all. He’s had enough when red spots start to litter Geralt’s skin.

He forces the Witcher to go to an inn, and he’s glad he did, by the time they reach it. Geralt’s hunched over Roach’s neck, sweat dripping from his brow, his skin so spotted with red he almost looks sunburnt. Jaskier barely manages to get him up the stairs, and immediately drops him on the bed, where Geralt lays very still, staring up at the wooden ceiling, breathing heavily.

Jaskier helps him out of his armour, uncovering more and more red spots as he works his way down to Geralt’s boots.

“I’m fine,” Geralt rasps to him. He doesn’t believe it for shit.

“Yeah, no you’re not, Witcher. Looks like you’ve got yourself some measles.”

Geralt scoffs, though it sounds more like two pieces of sandpaper rubbed together. “Witchers don’t get measles.”

Jaskier rolls his eyes, taking a washcloth, wetting it with some water from his waterskin. “Well, you did, so I suggest you change your views on that, Geralt.” He sits down on the side of the bed, gently laying the washcloth over Geralt’s brow, softly pressing it down. “You’re burning up,” he whispers.

“It’s fine.”

He smiles. “Go to sleep, Geralt. Get some rest.”

The Witcher sighs. “Hmm.” A ‘fine, alright, I’ll listen’-hmm. “I’m cold.”

Jaskier laughs softly, climbing over Geralt, laying down on his other side, hugging him to his chest. “Better?”

Geralt shakes his head frantically, weakly pushing at him – the fever’s clearly already taking a toll on him. “You’ll get sick,” he rasps.

“I had the measles as a kid. I’ll be fine, Witcher.”

“Hmm.” A content ‘hmm’. Then, suddenly: “Thank you, Jaskier. I love you.”

Geralt’s breathing evens out, as Jaskier pushes himself up on one elbow, looking down on his Witcher. Geralt is fast asleep, breathing deep and steady, face relaxed from its eternal frown. Jaskier smiles, laying down again, pulling his Witcher closer. “I love you too,” he whispers. Of course, Geralt doesn’t hear him, but he’ll say it again when he wakes up.

He’ll say it a million times if he has to – and he would mean it every time.

[catypus]

Okay I hope this isn't bothering you but I've been obsessed with this for a while now- akaashi x reader but she's dying young and she's never seen the snow and wanted to see the world and Akaashi being the compassionate person he is, he plans to take her traveling and to show her all the seasons in other places before she can't anymore-🥺😭 idk ive been obsessed with this idea since FOREVER 🥺👉👈

a | n : aww it’ll never be a bother!! thank you for sending in your request and waiting, we were really busy at that time but hope you like it <3

pairings: akaashi x dying!reader

genre: angsty huhu :”)))

warnings: implied death

© all content belongs to catypus 2020. do not modify or repost.

the four phases of grief (through the seasons)

when it’s you and me, it feels like nothing can tear us down; nothing can tear us apart

  - phase I; shock and numbness -

Time becomes a finite measure only when your days are set.

Others at your age are going out, exploring their futures, just setting foot into an unknown world and you? Get the better half of 1 year thrown at your feet and told, “here make what you will of it”

But how can you?

The words of the doctor echoes in your head, rattling your thoughts and making them dance about until nothing is coherent anymore.

It feels empty.

Like everything has lost its colour, its flavour.

But when he hugs you,

when he lets you cry it out on his shoulder,

when he cups your face and leaves a sweet kiss on your lips and whispers to you,

“my love, I'm here, I'll give you the best life”,

you can’t help but feel a miniscule tinge better.

That the love of your life, will remain a constant until the very end.

akaashi keiji, you’re one hell of a guy

The next day, he springs a surprise trip to Greece.

You could hardly believe the words as they left his lips.

“pack what you need, we leave at the end of the week”

“I’ve already called ahead to your work, you don’t have to worry about that”

And that’s how a week later you found yourselves on the windswept limestone cliffs of Santorini, gazing upon the tops of the notable blue and white architecture.

In the midst of the white-washed buildings, casted golden by the setting sun, Keiji tightens his grip on your hand.

A silent promise.

One that you treasure closest to your heart as the sun disappears beneath the horizon, bringing the day to a close.

 at the end, doesn’t everyone just want closure ?

 - phase ii; yearning and searching -

It's that time of the year where everything starts shriveling up and dying as the temperature takes a dip for the lower end of the thermostat.

And before you know it, you too will shrivel up and die

it’s a never leaving trail of negativity; one that only festers and broils as the autumn leaves scatter at the touch of the cold breeze.

That day, Keiji brings home a new beanie and shoves it snugly over your head, tightly bundling your hair until it frays out. He lets out a low chuckle.

You pout at him, attempting to uncover your eyes so you can see him properly and get your hair in place, when all you see are two plane tickets to Ontario.

He smiles softly at you, watching at your expression.

You meet his gaze quietly, staring into his eyes.

His eyes that hold hope for you.

You both know by now that the prospect of extending your deadline is out of the question. You’ve taken more sick days and the monthly reviews have slowly transitioned into fortnightly ones.

Yet he holds so much emotion for you, so many wishes that you will be happy, with him. Even until the very end.

You grasp his hand, in which he holds the tickets.

“when do we leave?”

The mist rising from the falls breaks the sunlight and forms a slender arc of a rainbow above the crest of the waterfall.

Against the backdrop of the hues of orange, red and yellow, the colours of autumn have never looked more stunning.

The two of you stand there, at the outlook over the edge of the falls, watching the miniscule silhouettes of other tourists on board the boats as they view Niagara Falls from a different perspective.

Maybe it’s about the perspective.

Maybe it’s not that you have less than a year left.

Maybe it’s that you have the rest of the year to love Keiji.

That you have the rest of the year to get your forever with him.

As you link hands and slowly tread through the park, leaves crunching at your feet, he suddenly stops.

“my love, can i get a picture of you?”

As much as he’d never forget your smile, he thought to himself, if he could capture even a shred of your beauty, he’d be forever thankful.

As you stood there, amidst the falling leaves, adjusting your beanie, he thinks you’ve never looked more gorgeous.

 and as we stand here together, in this instant, it’s as if time is standing still, bearing witness to our love

 - phase iii; disorganisation and despair -

 The beauty of a small island in the middle of winter, covered by blankets of glistening white snow.

A fleeting moment, where the frosty wind nips at your cheeks as the ferry slows to a halt, docking at the jetty.

Clasping your gloved hand in his, he gently leads the way, weaving through the crowd.

As you set foot on the ground and take in the view, you realise that no image on google can compare to seeing it in real life.

In days gone by, you fawned over the picturesque landscape and imagery of Nami Island in South Korea.

Especially in the heart of winter, where many others have taken their own recreations of photos out of a K-drama.

“keiji, baby look- “,

As you would show him a sample image of a wedding photoshoot, the couple staring lovingly in each other’s eyes with the tall Maple trees bearing witness to their love.

The same tall Maple trees that you and him now stand before.

In the subtle shadows, casted by the barren trees, he graces your lips with a kiss.

Which turned into another.

And another.

Before he pulls back slightly, leaning his forehead against yours, eyes closed, just basking in each other’s company.

Softly swaying with the cold wind, he pulls something out of his pocket.

That in which he links around your neck.

When you lean back and look down at your collar, there sits a simple but elegant rose gold chain, to which a pendant is attached to.

And on the pendant, is your anniversary date.

The day that you said yes to being his best friend, his confidante, the love of his life.

Suddenly, you feel very warm.

Your face heats up and tears fall from your eyes before you even notice it.

“keiji, I’m sorry.”

“what for, baby?”

“i’m sorry for whatever’s going to happen after.”

 fate fortold that we would meet, so now my love, what’s the rush?

 - phase iv; reorganisation and recovery -

 The cold winds have blown, now the warm days are returning.

Looking out the window, the green fields rush past as the Shinkansen speedily heads for Sapporo.

Clenching your fingers tighter, you look down at where Keiji’s fingers hold on to yours just as tightly.

One last time.

Slowly but surely, strolling down the pathway, watching as high school couples bask in the bright glow of the pink hues of this season.

It seemed like a lifetime ago that you and Keiji linked arms and sat under the cherry blossoms.

Youth.

As you both sat on the bench, his arms tightly wound across your shoulder, he recalls how all those years ago, as he wiped the corner of your mouth of cream from the daifuku you were eating, he first told you those three words.

“i love you.”

“until forever and the day after that”

He pulls out his phone, your ever-beautiful face smiling back at him from under those autumn leaves in Canada.

The bench beside him has never felt emptier as he places one hand over his chest, the cold metal of the pendant pressing painfully against his heart.

It’s been a year.

A flower bud drops on his shoulder.

He remembers your expressions, the amazement you gave the first time you saw him do a snow angel, the contentment when he had kissed you under the maple trees. The love in your eyes that never wavered a single time.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath in, before shakily letting it out.

I miss you.

 even when the seasons change, our love will forever remain the same.

[alexanderlightweight]

Home is You

This is for @alexmanesairstream! Thank you for the prompts, I sort of muddled them both together and then it got a little away from me!  Hope you enjoy it!

Michael was fraught with tension and he scowled at his beer bottle, knowing from the mental buzz that sparked like static electrify across his brain that Isobel was fast losing her patience.

“Look, Michael if it’s making you this worked up just go see him.”

“He clearly doesn’t want to see me.  Do you think it’s payback?”  Michael asked and ran his hands through his hair, trying not to think of all the worst case scenarios and failing.

“What I think clearly doesn’t matter,” Isobel said.  “Seeing as I keep on telling you to just go over to his place and talk to him in person.”

“We’ve been talking.  Talking is all we’ve been doing for a couple months now.  This was supposed to be the first step.  Sort of like a date.”  It felt odd to admit, but it was something that had been building for months.  A relationship built on trust and respect and not just desire.  It was supposed to be the beginning of a relationship that Michael had been craving for over a decade.  It was just like life to give him a taste of what he could have, then rip it away.

If this was Alex once again walking away from him, Michael was going to break and it was going to be explosive.  

“Sort of like a date?”  Isobel asked with little sympathy and then she scoffed, “if it’s only sort of a date then what does it even matter?”

If Michael had just a little less control, then the glass in the room would have shattered.  As it was, her wine glass gave a delicate little hum of warning and Isobel winced before setting the glass down.  “Sorry.  Look, Michael you have to figure this out.  Don’t let this be another misunderstanding or accident.  I realize you’re scared,” he shot her a glare that didn’t even phase her.  “But you both being scared is part of what made this take so long to get here.  Granted you both had different reasons for dragging your feet, but at some point you both need to stop making the same mistakes.”  

“If you’re wrong,” Michael warned, unable to finish voicing what he feared the most.

Isobel rolled her eyes and gave him a tiny mental push, “go Michael.  You don’t want to know what I’m planning if you two don’t manage to work this out by Monday.”  

Michael conceded defeat gracefully -with a grumble and the overexaggerated drag of his boots against Isobel’s floor.

-

Michael hadn’t been to Alex’s cabin very often.  The times he had been there, Valenti or someone else had also been present.  It was both exhilarating and neausiating to be approaching what he knew was Alex’s home and sanctuary by himself.  He wanted this to work.  More than anything, he wanted their relationship to be feasible and healthy and something that wouldn’t shatter as easily as bone.  Max may have been able to heal physical wounds and Isobel could root out mental and emotional ones, but not one out of their motley family could heal him if tonight went wrong.

Of course, it went wrong.

The first thing Michael noticed was that the cabin was lit and smoke was coming from the chimney.  It had been cooling down at night, but Alex would never have a fire going if he’d actually planned on meeting Michael for dinner like he’d promised.  Turning to corner to park and seeing Valenti’s car only made caused his mood to darken and agitation to churn in his stomach.  

From an intellectual point of view, Michael understood that what Alex and Valenti were working on was important, he also knew that a part -though not all- of Alex’s dedication to what was a rather thankless task, was because of him.  From an emotional standpoint, Michael wasn’t so understanding.  Especially if Alex’s reason for standing him up was because he was working with Valenti.  That shit wasn’t acceptable.  

It was with wild energy coursing through him that he unlocked Alex’s door with his powers, barely noticing that the door made a solid thunk as it opened.  The inside of the cabin was surprisingly dark, the only light besides the fireplace was a flickering lamp in the kitchen.

What did surprise him was a loud curse and then the sound of something being knocked over and then a quieter curse.  Valenti stumbled out from Alex’s bedroom looking like he hadn’t slept in days and his shirt soaked, an empty glass in one hand.

“Geurin?”  Valenti asked with what was clearly genuine surprise, “shit sorry.  I must have fallen asleep.  What are you doing here?”

“Trying to figure out where my errant date was,” Michael drawled, “just what kind of shit did you two find this time?”

Valenti blinked twice and then held up a hand, “give me a second before the interrogation, Guerin.  Actually, let me ask a couple questions first.  What time is it?”

“Past ten,” Michael said and watched as Valenti made his way with ease to the kitchen, grabbing a pot of what was clearly cold coffee and filling the glass in his hand.  The doctor didn’t even hesitate to down it before he rinsed it out and filled it with water that he slipped much more slowly.  

“Right, so I’ve been here... shit.  I got here yesterday, to go over something with Alex.  You said you had a date tonight?”  

“He didn’t mention it?”

“He’s ah...” Valenti sighed, “look I need you to trust me as a doctor okay?”  Michael crossed his arms in front of his chest and shifted his weight.  “Right.  Don’t even know why I thought that might work.  I got here yesterday and Alex was a little under the weather.  I convinced him to rest a little bit and he felt bad enough to agree, only when he woke up again his fever was pretty bad.  He’s not holding down medicine or fluids and his fever is high enough that he’s not making any sense.  He mentioned sending you a message and I gave him his phone, but it’s possible he forgot to send it.”  Valenti paused and took another sip of water, “or even type it out.  Like I said, he’s pretty out of it.”

“He’s sick?  Do we need to get him to a hospital?”  Michael asked, immediately alert despite the fact that he hated hospitals.  He hadn’t been around a human he cared about long enough to be there when they were sick.  He would have been, if it were for Alex, but they’d never had that opportunity.  

“I’d really rather not move him.  I gave him an IV earlier to get some fluids in him and he’s been doing better since then.  Honestly, he just needs rest and someone to look after him and help him out.”  Valenti said and he fixed Michael with a very serious look, “I have to get back to my apartment to rest at some point though.  If he’s not doing better I’ll probably have to take him with me and then to the hospital anyway, I can’t leave him here alone like this.”

“I can stay with him.”  The words were out of his mouth before Michael’s brain had finished registering Valenti’s words but he meant them.

“Guerin,” there was a pause, “you and Max and Isobel don’t get sick.  Alex is, he’s going to need a lot of looking after and a lot of help.”  

Valenti gave him and look that Michael didn’t even try to discern, he just shook his head stubbornly, “I can take care of him.”  

-

The list of things to track about Alex’s condition was long but not overly complicated.  The most important thing was to monitor his temperature and keep track of his fluid intake.  Valenti had been very clear that if anything got worse that Michael was to call him immediately, for once Michael didn’t argue.

Alex’s body was flush with heat, his face too pallid and hair soaked with sweat.  His eyes were glazed over with fever and when he met Michael’s gaze there was little recognition for a few minutes.  Then he seemed to collect himself enough to offer a small smile before he buried himself back into his pillow.

-

Taking care of Alex seemed to mostly be entertaining himself while Alex slept.  Michael hadn’t been sure what to do with himself at first; heating broth that Alex couldn’t quite hold down and texting both Valenti and Isobel updates on how Alex was doing.  She’d offered to come over but he’d been firm in telling her that wasn’t necessary.  Now he found himself pressed against Alex’s side, using his tablet for research and waking Alex up when he felt the other man needed it.  They hadn’t talked much, Alex being either too exhausted or too sick to have a serious conversation.

It took a week for Alex to get back on some semblance of a meal plan.  His body rejected most solid foods and Michael knew it was driving him crazy.  It should have been driving them both crazy but Michael, Michael found a strange sense of peace in looking after Alex.  In the fact that Alex was letting him instead of fighting to do everything himself.  

Michael had only left the cabin twice and that was to grab some of his things and make sure the bunker was sealed tight.

Taking care of Alex while he was sick was one of the most intimate things Michael had ever experienced.  Alex was stubborn and proud but even he knew when to lean on someone else and the fact that he hadn’t insisted Michael leave, hadn’t asked for someone else to see him like this.  It made something in Michael hum and settle happily in his chest, his entropy evening out as though Alex’s breathing and heartbeat were a song that soothed his mind.

It was like they were in their own little world.  Valenti had been called to a nearby hospital for an emergency and since Michael wasn’t sure exactly how Alex felt about anyone else at the moment, he didn’t bother letting anyone besides Isobel knowing what was going on.  

-

“So all it took for you to get along with Kyle was me getting sick?”  Alex teased him, cheeks finally showing some color that wasn’t from a fever and Michael rolled his eyes while using his powers to tuck the blanket around Alex.  

“I can tolerate Valenti when he’s useful, if I have to.”  Michael admitted sourly, “this isn’t going to become a common thing, Alex.  I wasn’t going to risk you dying or something and he’s the expert on human illnesses.”

“So what you’re saying,” Alex drawled with a glint of mischief in his eyes that made Michael wary, “is that Kyle has a better understanding of my anatomy than you?”  

“Alex,” Michael said warningly and was greeted with a smirk, “sometimes I wonder if you want me to break his face.”

“Sorry.”  He didn’t sound sorry at all, “but you kind of set yourself up for that one.”  When all Michael did was glower at him, Alex chuckled and reached out a hand to him.  “Thank you for trying to work with him.”

-

Taking care of Alex when he was incoherent and mumbling unintelligible things and barely able to hold a cup without spilling on himself was the easy part.  Taking care of a bed-ridden but coherent Alec was a trial in patience and a test in cunning.

“Guerin, no.”  

“What happened to Michael?”

“Michael is reserved for when you’re not holding a very sharp razor.”  Alex replied and gave the blade a very wary look.  “I’m fine waiting to shave.”

“You’ve been complaining about how being sweaty and not being able to shave is making you feel gross.  I can help with that.”  Michael sat down next to Alex and put the razor back on the tray of grooming supplies he’d gathered.

“I haven’t seen you clean shaven since we were kids.”  Alex raised a brow and looked at him challengingly, “you sure you know what you’re doing?”

“You’ll find I’ve only perfected my technique over the years.”  Michael said and grinned smugly before letting his mouth soften into a much gentler smile.  He raised his hand slowly and cupped Alex’s jaw, “I can tell it’s bothering you sweetheart, if you can, trust me with this.  Okay?”  He made sure his voice and his grip were tender, no demands.  If Alex decided he didn’t want this, Michael would respect that.  Alex watched him, brown eyes dark and gorgeous, brow furrowed in a way that made Michael want to soothe away all of his exhaustion.  

“Alright,” Alex said, pressing his cheek into Michael’s palm.  “I’d appreciate it then.  And Michael,” Alex paused, “I do trust you.  

Michael’s breath caught in his chest and he bit back the biting humor that defensively came to mind.  Even after all this time spent with Alex, there was a lingering fear that nipped at his heels and hid in the shadows of his brain.  

“Let’s put it to the test then, Private.”

-

Alex held himself still.  The moment, the act of Michael shaving him felt fragile.  It was his skin that a blade was pressed against, but he felt as though he were a sniper with Michael in his sights.  

Michael’s hands were calloused and warm, gentle but firm on his face, moving Alex where he needed to go.  The blade a steady and soft pressure.  Each slide of it against his face came with a strange pressure before it disappeared.  Soon enough he realized that Michael was using his powers to delicately maneuver the razor so that Alex was completely safe from even the tiniest and most accidental of cuts.  That devoted attention -on top of Michael’s dedication while he was sick- nearly broke Alex’s already cracked heart.

“I’m sorry.  I don’t think I’ve said that yet.”  He finally murmured, trying not to startle Michael.

“Alex, not right now.”  Michael said and gave him a stern look, “let me finish this.  I’m almost done.”  

Alex waited until he’d lifted the razor away to wipe it clean and then reached up, tangled his fingers with the hand Michael still had on his jaw.  Tilting his head he pressed a kiss to the now unscarred skin of Michael’s left hand, “you just keep on taking care of me.  I didn’t get to tell you how much I was looking forward to dinner.  To a real date, with you.”  

Michael gave a slow shuddering breath and clenched his eyes shut for a long moment, fingers tightening on Alex’s.  “Alex, why do you... you.  Fuck, you have the absolute worst timing for everything don’t you?”  Michael opened his eyes and Alex swallowed, already having forgotten what he meant to say in reply.  Michael’s eyes were fierce and burning and Alex felt consumed by the intensity.  

“Every time I try to wait for the right time, I hurt us both.  I don’t want to, I can’t keep doing that.  Eventually, I’ll be too late again.  Waiting for you was , Michael.  I don’t want to push you away again, just because I can’t figure out when or how to tell you what I feel or what I want.”  Alex kept his gaze locked on Michael’s.  “So, because I think I need to make it clear.  I wanted that date with you.  I knew what I was going to wear.  I wanted that night to end with a decision.”  

“And what decision would that be?”  Michael asked, voice hoarse but gaze no less relentless.  

“That no matter what, I’ll be there for you.  You’re my family, Michael.”  Michael’s gaze dimmed a little and Alex quickly continued, “but that’s not all I want you to be.  I wanted to tell you at dinner that I wanted more. That I want a relationship with you.  That I still love you.  I’ve never stopped loving you.”

Michael didn’t let him add anything else, just half lunged forward and Alex was dimly aware of the tray hitting the wall.  Pushed out of the way by Michael’s powers and then he was lost.  Pulled away from reality until his world began and ended with the press of Michael’s lips on his own.  Fingers sliding through his hair and tangling with the messy strands and hushed words of “I want that.  I want you,” pressed between gasps of air against his lips.  

He didn’t know how much time had passed before they parted.  Michael pressing one last kiss against his lips before pressing tiny, softer kisses against his cheeks and neck.

It took a long moment for Alex to come down from that euphoria, he was dizzy from the exertion of their kiss and he could do little more than rest a hand on Michael’s head.  By the time Michael stopped lavishing him with affection, Alex was waning and his eyes fluttering in a desperate attempt to stay awake.  

“If that’s all it took to wear you out, then we’re going to need to work on your stamina darling.”  Michael’s teasing was gentle and Alex gave a tired scoff in response.  Whatever energy he’d gained that day was gone and he just wanted to fall asleep with Michael’s comforting heat and weight against him.  “Alex, Alex stay awake just a little longer.”  Alex struggled to open his eyes and was rewarded with a soft, “there we go.  I meant it when I said you have the worst timing, let me just finish this and you can sleep.”  

Michael’s voice, his hands, the words he was speaking and even the scrape of metal from the razor all seemed twined together in something deeply comforting.  

-

Michael stretched out, tearing off his shirt as he headed to the Airstreams shower.  It had been a long but successful day and he was pleased with the amount of work he’d gotten done.  It had been a few months since Alex had missed their date and somehow, during the two weeks that he’d taken off, everyone had decided to have problems that had to be fixed.  While he couldn’t complain about the steady work, it did bite into his time spent both with Alex and in his bunker.  Of the two, Alex was his priority, but he did miss time spent discovering and learning more about who he was and where he was from.  The piece of his ship that Jim Valenti had left Alex, stayed in the bunker under the cabin, a place that Alex and he had been converting to both a lab and a more functional safehouse.  

Done with his shower, Michael went to grab new clothes and then cursed.  He’d been doing laundry at the cabin and apparently, he’d been forgetting to bring it back with him.  Deciding that if anyone pulled him over they could just deal with it, he put on his dusty and grease smeared jeans and forewent a shirt.  It wasn’t until he went to grab the rest of his dirty laundry that he really looked around the Airstream and he paused, taking in something that should have been obvious.

The Airstream was practically empty.

Oh it still held pieces of him.  It was still very clearly somewhere he had lived, but the longer he looked around the more he realized he didn’t live there anymore.  Somehow, in the days, weeks and now months of being with Alex, he’d only slept at the Airstream when he was too tired to drive home.  Or on the rare occasions when they were in town and he convinced Alex that it was faster to just stop at the Airstream instead of driving to the cabin.  

Michael drove on the side of too fast as he headed back to the cabin.  Alex was in the backyard, his laughter ringing through the air like a siren call when he arrived and Michael followed it.  The beagle pup they’d rescued was darting around, valiantly attempting to chase a soccer ball that outsized her.  Alex turned and smiled at him, looking healthier and happier than ever and Michael understood now what Alex had meant about feeling seventeen again.  Except they weren’t, they were better now.  Stronger, able to take care of each other and he knew that neither of them would ever look away again.  

“Too hot to put a shirt on, Cowboy?”  Alex asked as he met him for a kiss.

“More like I forgot that all my clothes were here,” Michael said evenly and he could feel Alex tensing under his hands, “I’ll have to remember to take some spares over tomorrow.”  

“Just some spares?”  Alex asked, voice tinged with hopefulness that let Michael know they were both on the same page.

“My home’s here,” Michael said and he put his left hand on Alex’s chest, right over his heart.  Alex was the music he needed to survive this planet, to survive the universe.  Whether that was here, in a little cabin in Roswell or on a ship set to explore the universe.  So long as he had Alex, his mind was quiet and life was worth it.  

[misskittydenoire]

Surprise! [Part One]

Title: Surprise! [Part One] Character(s) Mentioned: Tony Stark Pairing: Tony Stark x Offspring!Reader Genre: Fluff Rating: PG (eh, just a little language) Words: 2,432 Author’s Notes: I finally got a request! It’s from my friend NomNom! Thanks for the request, love! NomNom asks: Hiii! I was wondering if i could make a fic request. Can you write one of tony and reader, but reader being his kid that he just found out about? Thanks! Low key wanted the kid to be in college and whatever and is working as a barista and tony constantly trying to pay for everything but the kid keeps shutting him down lol. It’d be funny if she was the barista he always go to and when she found out, it was awkward until she went to the compound to tell him. I wanted to try something new with this request. I actually did my best and placed it in the protagonist’s point of view, that’s one. The second thing I tried to do was keep it gender neutral. This also ended up becoming a two parter because the story turned out longer than I expected! I really hope you guys like it! Summary: It has always been you and your mom. Since you were born, your mom has been there for you, has been your pillar of strength, and later on, has taught you to hold your own. You’ve relied on yourself and your hard work always. However, big news falls onto your lap and a new father comes along with it. A father who’s willing to give you anything in the world. A father who happens to occasionally save it as well. That father just so happens to be Tony Stark.

He stepped out of his silver Audi, fixing his tailored suit as he closed the car door with a small slam. His genuine black leather shoes softly hit the pavement as he entered his favorite establishment. Tony Stark survived on coffee. If it were possible, he would have a permanent IV attached to him filled with the caffeinated liquid. Instead, he walks through the glass door of a small cafe he frequents, a location that naturally knew his presence by the sound of his feet entering through the door.

“Hello, Mr. Stark! How are you today?” The portly owner greeted him with a wide smile, her cheeks flushed from her work. Her left hand still wiping down the table in front of her, preparing for the busy day ahead. He turned, his signature sunglasses on the bridge of his nose, and smirked. “Hanging in there, Susan. I need my fix again. You know me, can’t work without that magical brown juice that keeps me up and amazing.” She shook her head, accustomed to his remarks. Susan continued on, placing the small advertisement of their new product coming soon in the center of the dark wooden table before she moved on to another project.

A deep sigh escaped you. Another turn around shift that has been slowly draining your energy down to zero. If you take anymore of this shifts, you might as well sleep here. Attempting to balance college and your part time job is becoming too much to bare, however you sluggishly dragged your feet forward. College loans won’t pay for themselves, no matter how smart you are. One week closer. Just one more week closer to graduation and then you can finally collapse. The small red bucket of sanitizer fluid swayed back and forth before you placed it on the faux marble counter, a thin blue fabric floating above the water. Your mind concentrated on the mountain of worries, not paying attention to your surroundings. Your back was to the register, now wiping the same spot between the blenders for the umpteenth time.

“Uh, can I get some service here?” There was a sudden spike in your heartbeat, surprised by the unexpected voice behind you. You turned your heel, quick to smile, and address the first customer of the day when you looked at the cheeky smile plastered on their face. “God! You almost gave me a heart attack, man!” You exhaled heavily, as your hand clutched the middle area above your chest. Tony chuckled, tipping his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose. His brown eyes bright with joviality. “Sorry, kid. Didn’t mean to scare ya.” “Yes, you did.” “You’re right, I did. It’s always fun seeing you jump. It’s my favorite morning entertainment next to annoying the crap outta Happy.” You glared at him, feigning annoyance before breaking into a grin, “Ha ha. What can I get you, Mr. Stark?” “Ugh, don’t call me that. You make me sound old.” “You are old,” You quipped. “… I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that and chalk it up to childlike humor. How old are you again, twelve?” He answered, pushing the sunglasses back up onto the top of his nose. You rolled your eyes playfully, “What can I get you, Tony?”

He shrugged indecisively, and lifted his head to look over the many choices available to him. He pursed his lips as he pondered what to drink. The options were limitless, his deep brown eyes jumping from beverage to beverage.

“Here you go, Tony.” You said, placing the disposable cup with its cardboard sleeve in front of him. Tony looked at the cup, then to you. Back to the cup and back to you for the second time. You smirked, crossing your arms over your chest proudly. You shrugged nonchalantly before your shoulders dropped down again. Stark was about to speak when you interrupted him, a smug expression on your face. “You always look at the menu, taking about two minutes before you give up and ask for the usual: Americano with an extra shot and a questionable shitload of sugar. I’m surprised you don’t have diabetes by now.” “Well, one: I was going to choose something different this time. And two: This is my sugar intake for the day. The rest of the day I stay somewhat healthy. I’m doing great for a 34 year old.” “Aren’t you 48?” “Shut up.” He mumbled before he turned his heel and walked casually out the doors as you laughed at his reaction.

You shook your head, your laughter dying down as soon as you found yourself surrounded by a swarm of hipsters ready with their orders of organic soymilk, non-fat, chai lattes. Your chest underneath the dirty green apron expanded, quickly letting out an aggravated groan and widened a false grin. “Here we go…” You said to yourself.

The miniature Captain America shield hit against your keys as you stepped foot into the apartment. It fell back into your right jacket pocket, placing the article of clothing on the hook adjacent to the entrance. Your body screamed for release from the aches and pains it suffered standing for eight hours on tiled floor at work. While your brain pleaded for relief after five more hours of listening to lectures about the history of engineering. Your day was yet to be done, however. Piles of readings that needed to be completed for the following class and essays that still were in need to be outlined. Your professors have conspired to torture you until you’re in cap and gown. Juggling both work and school hasn’t been an easy road but you were determined to endure it till the end.

“Hi honey.” A soft voice greeted you.

It was your mother. She sat nervously on the couch you’ve been inhabiting for the past six months. She smiled briefly before her nerves set back into her small face. With open arms, she welcomed you back home once you realized that several pieces of papers written ‘I.O.U’ was no longer satisfactory for your roommates or landlord. You were her only child, of course. She wasn’t going to let you live in the streets.

“Mom?” You asked, confused by the soft frown on her face. “Sweetie? We need to talk,” She patted the cushion next to her, then placed her hand back on her lap.

You stared at her weary face. The wrinkles around her eyes were more apparent than usual. Whatever was plaguing her, clearly was taking a toll on her. You felt concerned, your feet sped towards her without losing eye contact. Your hands took hers, “Are you okay? What’s the matter? Are you sick? Are you–” “Sweetie, I’m fine. Breathe. You look like you’re gonna pass out.” She chuckled. You let out a sigh of relief, “With you and Mr. Stark, I’m gonna get grey hairs before I even turn 25.” “You’ve met Tony Stark?” She asked, surprised. You nodded, “Yeah, I thought I mentioned him to you before. He stops by the cafe often.” “I guess this makes it a little easier than…” “Makes what easier?” “Well…” She began.

“…So. You’re saying that my dad is Tony freaking Stark?!” You shouted, incredulously. You stood up, the blood rushing to your head in a flash which caused you to sit back down. It was your mother’s turn to nod. “Does he know?” Your fingers rubbed your temples, groaning from the rapid equations in your brain, attempting to wrap this situation around it.

She was still silent. She shook her head, worried that she has angered you. She couldn’t blame you. She has withheld this information for quite some time. “Why? Why have you kept this from me for so long?” You asked, exasperated. The secret was the least of your worries. It was the fact that your own flesh and blood omitted the truth. She’s not only the woman who gave birth to you but she was your best friend. Regardless of the fights they’ve caused, you’ve always told her the truth. This is different from, “oh, your fish is just sleeping,” or “eating your spinach is gonna make you strong like Popeye.” You knew the ins and outs of how you came to be but the origin was always vague. You see why now. “To be honest, I don’t know. I suppose because I thought it was for the best. It felt like it didn’t matter. We had each other, and we weren’t missing anything so it wasn’t like I needed him. Besides, at the time, he was a playboy. He had so notches on his bedpost, they were splinters. He wasn’t going to recognize who I was or even believe me. It was going to be more a fiasco and I didn’t want that in our lives.” She explained, tears welled in her coffee colored eyes. “Besides, it’s not the greatest feeling in the world to tell your only child they are the product of a one night stand.”

“Mom, I don’t care if you’ve slept with thousands of men. What bothers me is you’ve kept this from me when I’ve always been honest with you.” “Okay, don’t use my favorite musical against me… And it wasn’t thousands of men.” She grumbled. You gingerly wiped the pending tears before they fell as a smile surfaced on both of your faces. “… I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” You shook your head, “It’s okay, mom. It’s nothing therapy and vodka won’t fix.” She lightly smacked your arm as she sighed in relief. Her thin frame stood up, as if lightened by the confession of her past. She walked towards the kitchen, today’s dinner on the top of her tongue until she forgot a fire question she herself had. “…..Are you going to tell Mr. Stark who you are?”

Your eyes stared at the entrance of the compound. This man has never been really subtle, huh? Just a big ol’ A slapped onto the building. Through the glass paned doors, you could see the hustling and bustling of the agents and staff while you contemplated even going forward with this idea. You weren’t even sure he’d be here. However, you knew this matter wasn’t something to be spoken about at the cafe and it wasn’t something that you can say casually while you handed him his coffee. 

“Here’s your usual, Mr, Stark. Oh, by the way, I’m your illegitimate child you had from a one night stand you probably have no recollection of.” You muttered, feigning a grin as you replayed the impossible scenario you had in your head. Your right s/c hand clutched the piece of paper with the address of the compound, crumbling it as if it would will your feet to finally move. It didn’t. The roar of an engine drew closer, and you whipped your head towards the direction. Your e/c eyes widened as the man in question came into your line of vision. How the hell are you gonna explain this? Would he even believe you?

Stark noticed a figure as he got to the compound, and quickly knew who it was. What he didn’t understand is why you were there in the first place. “Y/N? Doing deliveries now or is this some special perk for yours truly?” He quipped. However, his tone shifted when you fully turned to him, your face holding a nervous look in your eyes. “Hey, are you okay? Did something happened? Are you sick? Do you need-” Well, nice to know that the 21 questions panic mode comes from him, you thought to yourself, as you held up your hands to pause his interrogation. “Hey Tony. Yes, I’m okay. Yes, something did happen but nothing that required stitches. No, I’m not sick,” You answered in a monotone before you moved on to why you were really there. “Actually, there is something I need to discuss with you. It’s something really delicate that I knew I couldn’t explain to you at my job. Can we talk somewhere private?” “Yes sure, kid.” Tony escorted you into the building, his arm directing you to the elevators. 

You took quiet deep breaths as you entered his office. The large room was twice as big as your living room and the furniture’s upscale appearance was far from any one you could afford. Your arms stuck close to your form, afraid that if you even as so touched the air around it, it would collapse. You weren’t even sure you should sit down when Tony offered you a seat because you were afraid you’d wrinkle the cushion. You only decided to accept it since Tony wouldn’t have stopped staring intently until you did. He sat on the opposite side on his work desk, his broad back leaning against his chair, “So sport, what did you wanna talk about? Must be something serious if you decided to come all this way from the city.” You began to twiddle your thumbs, “Well… I honestly don’t know where to begin here. This is a position I never thought I’d be in.” A short exhale escaped your mouth, your hands (though slightly clammy) gripped the arms of the chair as you decided to just come out with it, “I’m your kid. I’m not asking for money or any like that. I just found out a couple of days ago and I thought you should know too. You know, just in case you’d ever need a blood transfusion or something. Not that I want that to happen or anything. Just, you know… so you know.” Unfortunately, the execution was a little too quick for Tony to catch. The sentences were woven together that it didn’t make any sense. Tony blinked, “…Sorry, what?” “You’re�� my dad.” The man behind the iron mask sat in front of you, frozen. And stayed frozen for about five minutes. “Mr. Stark. Are you still breathing? Listen, I know this comes as quite a shock and I don’t even know if you believe me. I’m willing to take a blood test, anything—” In an instant, he lifted his hand. “F.R.I.D.A.Y., can you verify this?” On it, sir. “Ow!” You released your left hand from the vice grip you had on the chair when you get a prick on your index finger. Within seconds, the AI returned. What Y/N is correct, sir. You are their biological father. You sat there, uncertain what to do next. Unintentionally, you nervously smiled, “…Mazel Tov?” Well, this could’ve gone a whole lot worse…

[katymacsupernatural]

Stories to Awaken Terror Chapter 4: Purple Candy

Dean Winchester x Reader

2400 Words

Story Summary:As a couple of kids read a scary book, Sam, Dean and Y/N live those scary tales. Will they be able to figure out what’s causing the hunts before it’s too late?

Catch Up Here: Masterpost

“Aren’t we done with these stories yet?” Tyler whined as the three kids once again met in the tent, Zach holding the book in front of him. His sister was already there, her stuffed animal held tightly in her arms, a bowl of popcorn off to the side. “I don’t think they can get any better.”

“We have to finish the book,” Zach insisted, his eyes wide as he stared at his friends.

“Zach, are you okay?” Sophia asked, leaning back away from her brother at  his frenzied look.

“I will be if you don’t stop asking questions and let me start reading!” He yelled, both Tyler and Sophia quieting down to placate Zach. “There was a house at the end of the lane,” he started reading, his voice low, much creepier than normal.

“This house was nestled back in the trees, the wood no longer white but a dull, greasy gray. The windows were covered in dust, and everyone, the young and the old refused to step inside, afraid of what awaited them.”

“Years past, and still it sat empty, many people thinking that it would disintegrate with the wind. But still it sat there, until one day!” Zach exclaimed, glancing up at his friend and sister with wild eyes.

“What happened?” Tyler asked, his voice much higher than normal.

“It was almost like magic. This couple moved in, and the house transformed with them. The grey walls turned back to white, the windows shined the brightest of any in town. They were happy people, bringing children closer to them, offering them sweets. They began selling candy to the children, bags of candy. These little shiny purple balls. Children loved them, pleading with their parents for enough change to buy a bag after school.”

“What’s so scary about candy?” Sophia asked.

“After a month of selling their special purple candy, our heroes roll into town, looking into the mysterious deaths that had recently occured. Including those of children.”

“Dean, do you think this is a normal hunt, or…,” you asked, sitting in the front of the Impala for once, as Sam stretched out in the backseat. Dean had pulled you closer to him, his hand resting lightly on your thigh.

“I really don’t know,” he sighed lightly. “I wish I could say it was, but I also feel the pull of this hunt, much like the other ones. I just wish Cas would hurry up and figure out what’s going on.”

“I do too,” you whispered. “I have a bad feeling about this one.”

“We’ll be fine, like we always are,” Dean tried assuring you.

Turning silent, you stared out the window as Dean drove down Main Street. It was small and quaint, with only a couple of Mom and Pop shops. At the end was a little hotel, and Dean went inside to reserve a room while you turned to wake up the sleeping moose behind you.

Stretching, you watched as children passed by, bags of a strange looking purple candy clenched in their hands, their mouths dyed purple. Expecting them to be silly, and bouncing with all that sugar, you watched as they shuffled down the street, almost zombielike.

“That’s weird, isn’t it?” Sam asked, just as Dean came out of the lobby, smiling widely.

“So they only had two rooms left, both singles,” he announced. “Sam, you get your own room for once! Y/N and I can share.”

It had become a normal habit in the week since your last hunt, and you didn’t mind it at all. After all, falling asleep being held in Dean’s arms was definitely not a hardship, and you found yourself sleeping better than you had in a long time.

Pushing open the door to your hotel room, you were pleasantly surprised. A simple queen sized bed was placed in the middle, a patchwork quilt brightening the room. A small table, along with a fridge and couch completed the living area, but the bathroom had a deep bathtub along with a nice shower. “This is actually pretty decent,” you announced as Dean brought your items in.

“Ohh, I bet you’re going to want to try out that tub,” he stated before plopping down on the bed beside you. “Hopefully we get this hunt taken care of fast, and then we can spend a day relaxing. Maybe I could even join you?”

Sure, you and Dean had been sleeping in the same bed, but you had never gone past the kissing stage. Mainly because you were worried that you wouldn’t be good enough for the experienced man. But you didn’t tell him that, and he didn’t push.

“So, tell me again why we’re here?” You asked just as Sam came into the room, settling down in one of the chairs, opening his laptop.

“Because of the weird way children are dying,” Sam explained, pulling up the police records. “There have been four confirmed child deaths in the past month, and each one have been connected.”

“How?”

“They literally had no blood left in their bodies. Their veins were filled with these tiny little bugs,” he said, turning to show you the screen, and you hid your face in Dean’s shoulder, creeped out by the little bugs. “The weirdest thing?”

“What’s weirder than little bugs in your veins?” You asked, making Dean chuckle.

“Their hearts were gone. No sign of getting cut open, nothing. But no heart.”

“So what are we thinking? A very tricky werewolf?”

“I have no idea. The police haven’t been able to tie them together. The kids were different ages, and hung out in different circles.”

“Wait, I did notice something. Sam remember? Those kids out front, they seemed so weird. Eating that purple candy!”

“That’s not much to go on, but we’ve dealt with less,” Sam thought out loud. “I’d really like to head down to the police department, see what else I can find out.”

“Good. Y/N and I will try to find some kids, see if they can tell us where this purple candy is coming from, and if it’s tied in.”

“Meet back here in a couple of hours?” Sam suggested, Dean pulling you to your feet before you left the comfortable bed behind.

“It seems like every kid has eaten this candy!” Dean exclaimed. “I wonder if it’s the culprit?”

“Yeah, but no one is telling us where it’s being bought at,” you groaned. “If it is the cause, you would think we could figure out something.”

“Excuse me,” a small voice whispered, a hand reaching up to tug on your coat. “Are you here to stop those people?”

“What people?” You asked, turning to see a small boy, about six years old with dirty blonde hair and light blue eyes staring up at you.

“The people selling the candy. My friends are getting sick,” he whispered. “I’m scared.”

Kneeling down, Dean turned the boys attention to him. “Why don’t you tell us about these people, and where they live.”

“They live down there,” he pointed. “Selling candy. They were old when they came, but now, now they look young. It scares me.”

“Have you eaten any of the candy?” You asked him, and he shook his head. “Good, keep it that way. Go home, and we’ll get this figured out.”

Watching as the boy ran away, you turned to Dean. “Shall we go check them out?”

Taking his phone out, he called Sam, leaving a message as you made your way down the street. The houses turned from well maintained, to dark and falling apart. Watching closely, you hoped you could figure out which one you needed. It wasn’t until you rounded the corner that you knew finding it would be much easier than you thought.

It was the middle of three houses, and it stood out like a sore thumb. Both houses flanking it were falling apart, their windows boarded, no trespassing signs on the porch. But the one in the middle was tucked into the trees, it’s white paint vibrant against the darkness. It looked cleaned, and well maintained, and a sign proudly proclaimed it to be a sweets shop. “I think we found it,” you announced.

“Why don’t I have a good feeling about this?” Dean wondered out loud just as a couple stepped out onto the porch. The woman was stunning, with her long, thick dark brown hair and voluptuous body. The man was handsome with his olive skin and thick wavy hair. Standing side by side, they waved towards you, a smile upon their face.

“Welcome!” They called out, as you carefully stepped forward. “How can we help you?”

“Hi, we were just wondering if you were selling those candies?” Dean asked, keeping his arm wrapped around you waist.

The closer you stepped to the house, the more you could sense something was wrong. The grass in the front had a sweet, pungent smell, and the women’s eyes were dark and cruel. Her hand was wrapped in a blood stained cloth. “We are. We normally sell to children, but if you want some I just made a fresh batch.”

“No thank you,” Dean told them. “We were just wondering if they were connected to the deaths of the children in town.”

“I knew we would draw hunters if we weren’t careful,” her husband muttered, moving faster than you expected, standing in front of you and Dean before you could blink.

“Y/N, run!” Dean exclaimed, just as the man smashed Dean’s head with a rock, immediately knocking him unconscious.

“What the…,” you started to say, pulling your gun from your back pocket just as the man turned on you, his teeth long and sharp. Shooting him in the chest, you stared in shock as it didn’t seem to phase him before he brought the rock down, knocking you out instantly.

Your head aching, you woke up, immediately remembering what happened. Opening your eyes, you groaned as pain radiated through your head, your vision blurred from the blood that had seeped out of your wound.

You were chained to a table, both your hands and legs held by chains, an iv attached to your arm, blood slowly leaving your body.

“Y/N!” Dean exclaimed from your left, and you were just able to see him tied to a chair, his mouth tinged purple.

“Did they…,”

“Yeah, two bags full of candy,” he muttered. “I can already feel it taking effect. My reflexes are slower, and I feel sluggish.”

“Dean, I feel so tired,” you whispered, watching the blood leave you through the IV.

“That’s from blood loss,” he muttered. “Y/N, stay as still and as calm as possible. We’ll figure something out.”

“Dean, I think it’s going to be too late,” you whispered, already noticing how cold your body felt.

“It is too late,” the woman announced from the doorway. “You’ve already lost most of your blood. In a moment, you’ll be nothing but a lifeless body, another tasty meal for me and my husband.”

“No!” Dean yelled, pulling at his bindings, as your eyes closed, and the last breath left your body.

“No!” Sophia exclaimed, tossing her stuffed animal to the side. “These stories have been scary, but she can’t die!”

“That’s what it says in the story,” Zach argued. “I can’t change what it says.”

“I like her, and I want her ending up with Dean. So I say she can’t die,” Sophia insisted.

“And how do you expect to change it?” Tyler asked her.

Thinking for a moment, Sophia pulled out her marker, taking the book from her brother’s hands. At first she thought he was going to fight her, but he gave up the book, and she quickly wrote in the limited space. “There, that’s better.”

“Sophia, I don’t think that will work,” Zach started to say, but she just glared at him. “Fine, I’ll read it.”

“Thank you,” she answered, sitting back.

With a deep breath, Y/N shot straight up, as far as the chains would let you. Breathing heavily, your eyes wide and frantic, you stared around the room. Dean was no longer in the chair, and the woman lay bloody off to the side, her head no longer attached. You could hear voices in the other room, and you struggled against the chains.

“Dean, you know Cas won’t be able to bring her back,” Sam was saying. “We need to get her out of here, and give her a hunter’s funeral.”

“This isn’t right!” Dean was arguing. “She wasn’t meant to die this way! I knew something was wrong, I should have made her stay back at the motel!”

“Do you think she would have? This is Y/N we’re talking about. She died trying to save children, and that’s what matters.”

“Sam, I never got the chance to tell her,” Dean’s voice softened as you stilled. “Why didn’t I tell her?”

“I’m sorry,” Sam told his brother. “I wish things were different, I really do.”

Footsteps were heard as they came back into the room. You could tell the exact moment they noticed you, both men freezing in their spots, their eyes wide as they stared your way. “Y/N?” Dean breathed, but Sam placed a hand on his chest, stopping him.

“Dean, this could be a trick.”

“Y/N, how are you…,”

“I don’t know,” you whispered. “I remember dying, and then suddenly, I’m back.”

They both came forward, Sam with his silver knife in his hands. Carefully, he slid it across your skin, his eyes widening as you made no reaction. “Dean, I think it’s really her. Somehow, she was brought back.”

As soon as Sam said those words, Dean was undoing your chains, pulling you into his arms. “Damn it Y/N, I thought I had lost you.”

“You had. I have no idea why I’m back,” you answered, scared. “Do you think it has to do with, whatever’s going on?”

“I think that’s our only answer. If we could figure out what is going on,” Dean muttered, just as Sam came into the room, a piece of paper in his hands. It was yellowed, the words faded.

“Dean, I think you need to see this,” he spoke up, handing the paper over to him. From your spot, you could barely make out the printed words, along with words written in childish script, in bright red marker.

“Y/N, this is exactly what happened to you and I,” Dean stuttered. “And this writing here. I think it’s what brought you back to life!”

“Does that mean we’re living in some sort of book?” You asked, both brothers staring at each other with wide eyes, no one having the answer.

Dean/Jensen Tags:@acreativelydifferentlove @a-girl-who-loves-disney @akshi8278 @anokhi07 @aubreystilinski @bebravekeeponfighting @brindz30 @colette2537 @crusadedean @deanwinchesters-impala67 @haelyn @horsegirly99 @ikeneasul11 @its-not-a-tulpa @just-another-winchester @lady-phoenix-of-tardis @librarygeekery @msimpala67 @love-charmer-sketch @ria132love @ruprecht0420 @shadowhunter7 @sizzlingbearpolice @sleep-silent-angel @sortaathief @superseejay721517 @torn-and-frayed @wonderfulworldofwinchester

Stories to Awaken Terror Tags: @joseyrw @suckystoryteller @salt-n-burn-em-all @wingedcatninja @waywardbaby @waywardnerd67 @horsegirly99 @profoundly-bitchy-collection @jae-sch @sociopathtime @depressed-moose-78 @sophiebobzz @oreosatmidnight @librarygeekery @winchesterxtwo @asirammm @itsmerighthere @squirrelnotsam @karmamariejoy @linki-locks11 @xthelittlethings @incredibly-sarcastic-url @alwayskeepfightingkaz-2y5 @imascio08 @deansbabygirl01 @deansgirl215 @sasquatch5 @kay18115 @gh0stgurl @quackerstheduck663057 @photos-by-16 @idk-wtf-is-happening @pheonyxstorm

Forever Tags(CLOSED):

@16wiishes @4401lnc @algud @amanda-teaches @andreaaalove @angelsandwinchesters @anspgene @artisticpoet @atc74 @be-amaziing @bemyqueenofdarkness @bohowitch @bumber-car-s @brooke-supernatural16  @brunettechick @camelotandastronauts @captainradicalpassion @chelsea072498 @clairese1980 @captainemwinchester @createdbybadappreciation @darthdeziewok @destiels-new-girl @donnaintx @dont-you-dare-say-misha @dslocum89 @duckieburns @docharleythegeekqueen @emmazach @emilicious-7 @emoryhemsworth @ericaprice2008  @esoltis280 @essie1876 @generalgoldfishldrm @goldenolaf25 @growningupgeek @herbologystudent252 @heyitscam99 @highfunctioning-soiciopath @hms-fangirl @hobby27 @ichooseeternalplaces @imboredsueme @internationalmusicteacher @ithinkimadorable-67 @iwriteaboutdean  @jayankles @jensen-gal @just-another-busy-fangirl @karlee-fay-my-wayward-son @keelzy2 @leanbeankeane @lifelovelaughangell123 @li-ssu @littleblue5mcdork  @lowlyapprentice @luciferslucille @maui137 @mellowlandrunaway @mogaruke @nanie5 @natashacamillaus @newtospnfandom @offbeatsilhouette @percussiongirl2017 @pilaxia @pizzarollpatrol @plaid-lover-bay25 @ronja-uebrick @rosegoldquintis @roxyspearing @samanddeanmyheroes @sandlee44 @shamelesslydean @sillesworldofwriting @sgarrett49 @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @smoothdogsgirl @spnbaby-67 @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @spnwoman @sunskittlex @starry-chaos @superbadassnatural @thebikiniinspector @theflameontheinside @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @tina8009 @totallovelesson @tunadean @whimsicalrobots @walkslikesummeractslikerain @whimsicalrobots @wildlandfox @winchesterbrothers-inc @winchesterxtwo @winchester-writes @worldwidehansum @zombiewerewolfqueen

[viralhottopics]

The 16 Most Beautifully Touching Love Letters From Famous Writers And Artists

1. Allen Ginsburg to poet Peter Orlovsky:

Dear Petey:

O Heart O Love everything is suddenly turned to gold! Dont be afraid dont worry the most astounding beautiful thing has happened here! I dont know where to begin but the most important. When Bill [ed: William S. Burroughs] came I, we, thought it was the same old Bill mad, but something had happened to Bill in the meantime since we last saw him…but last night finally Bill and I sat down facing each other across the kitchen table and looked eye to eye and talked, and I confessed all my doubt and misery and in front of my eyes he turned into an Angel!

What happened to him in Tangiers this last few months? It seems he stopped writing and sat on his bed all afternoons thinking and meditating alone & stopped drinking and finally dawned on his consciousness, slowly and repeatedly, every day, for several months awareness of a benevolent sentient (feeling) center to the whole Creation he had apparently, in his own way, what I have been so hung up in myself and you, a vision of big peaceful Lovebrain…

I woke up this morning with great bliss of freedom & joy in my heart, Bills saved, Im saved, youre saved, were all saved, everything has been all rapturous ever since I only feel sad that perhaps you left as worried when we waved goodby and kissed so awkwardly I wish I could have that over to say goodby to you happier & without the worries and doubts I had that dusty dusk when you left Bill is changed nature, I even feel much changed, great clouds rolled away, as I feel when you and I were in rapport, well, our rapport has remained in me, with me, rather than losing it, Im feeling to everyone, something of the same as between us.

2. Frida Kahlo to Diego Rivera:

Diego:

Truth is, so great, that I wouldnt like to speak, or sleep, or listen, or love. To feel myself trapped, with no fear of blood, outside time and magic, within your own fear, and your great anguish, and within the very beating of your heart. All this madness, if I asked it of you, I know, in your silence, there would be only confusion. I ask you for violence, in the nonsense, and you, you give me grace, your light and your warmth. Id like to paint you, but there are no colors, because there are so many, in my confusion, the tangible form of my great love.

F.

3. Oscar Wilde to Lord Alred Bosie Douglas (Wilde’s eventual muse):

My Own Boy,

Your sonnet is quite lovely, and it is a marvel that those red rose-leaf lips of yours should be made no less for the madness of music and song than for the madness of kissing. Your slim gilt soul walks between passion and poetry. I know Hyacinthus, whom Apollo loved so madly, was you in Greek days.

Why are you alone in London, and when do you go to Salisbury? Do go there to cool your hands in the grey twilight of Gothic things, and come here whenever you like. It is a lovely place and lacks only you; but go to Salisbury first.

Always, with undying love, yours, Oscar

4. Eleanor Roosevelt to Lorena Hickok (Eleanor’s long-speculated lover):

Hick, darling

Ah, how good it was to hear your voice. It was so inadequate to try and tell you what it meant. Funny was that I couldnt say je taime and je tadore as I longed to do, but always remember that I am saying it, that I go to sleep thinking of you.

5. Emma Darwin to Charles Darwin:

I cannot tell you the compassion I have felt for all your sufferings for these weeks past that you have had so many drawbacks. Nor the gratitude I have felt for the cheerful & affectionate looks you have given me when I know you have been miserably uncomfortable.

My heart has often been too full to speak or take any notice I am sure you know I love you well enough to believe that I mind your sufferings nearly as much as I should my own & I find the only relief to my own mind is to take it as from Gods hand, & to try to believe that all suffering & illness is meant to help us to exalt our minds & to look forward with hope to a future state. When I see your patience, deep compassion for others self command & above all gratitude for the smallest thing done to help you I cannot help longing that these precious feelings should be offered to Heaven for the sake of your daily happiness. But I find it difficult enough in my own case. I often think of the words Thou shalt keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on thee. It is feeling & not reasoning that drives one to prayer. I feel presumptuous in writing thus to you.

I feel in my inmost heart your admirable qualities & feelings & all I would hope is that you might direct them upwards, as well as to one who values them above every thing in the world. I shall keep this by me till I feel cheerful & comfortable again about you but it has passed through my mind often lately so I thought I would write it partly to relieve my own mind.

6. English poet Vita Sackville-West to Virginia Woolf:

…I am reduced to a thing that wants Virginia. I composed a beautiful letter to you in the sleepless nightmare hours of the night, and it has all gone: I just miss you, in a quite simple desperate human way. You, with all your undumb letters, would never write so elementary a phrase as that; perhaps you wouldnt even feel it. And yet I believe youll be sensible of a little gap. But youd clothe it in so exquisite a phrase that it should lose a little of its reality. Whereas with me it is quite stark: I miss you even more than I could have believed; and I was prepared to miss you a good deal. So this letter is really just a squeal of pain. It is incredible how essential to me you have become. I suppose you are accustomed to people saying these things. Damn you, spoilt creature; I shant make you love me any more by giving myself away like this But oh my dear, I cant be clever and stand-offish with you: I love you too much for that. Too truly. You have no idea how stand-offish I can be with people I dont love. I have brought it to a fine art. But you have broken down my defenses. And I dont really resent it.

7. E.B. White to his wife on the occasion of her pregnancy, “written” by their dog:

Dear Mrs. White:

I like having Josephine here in the morning, although I suppose I will get less actual thinking done as I used to do my thinking mornings in the bathroom. White has been stewing around for two days now, a little bit worried because he is not sure that he has made you realize how glad he is that there is to be what the column writer in the Mirror calls a blessed event. So I am taking this opportunity, Mrs. White, to help him out to the extent of writing you a brief note which I havent done in quite a long time but have been a little sick myself as you know. Well, the truth is White is beside himself and would have said more about it but is holding himself back, not wanting to appear ludicrous to a veteran mother. What he feels, he told me, is a strange queer tight little twitchy feeling around the inside of his throat whenever he thinks that something is happening which will require so much love and all on account of you being so wonderful. (I am not making myself clear I am afraid, but on the occasions when White has spoken privately with me about this he was in no condition to make himself clear either and I am just doing the best I can in my own way.) I know White so well that I always know what is the matter with him, and it always comes to the same thing he gets thinking that nothing that he writes or says ever quite expresses his feeling, and he worries about his inarticulateness just the same as he does about his bowels, except it is worse, and it makes him either mad, or sick, or with a prickly sensation in the head. But my, my, my, last Sunday he was so full of this matter which he couldnt talk about, and he was what Josephine in her simple way would call hoppy, and particularly so because it seemed so good that everything was starting at once I mean those things, whatever they are, that are making such a noise over in the pond by Palmer Lewiss house, and the song sparrow that even I could hear from my confinement in the house, and those little seeds that you were sprinkling up where the cut glass and bones used to be all starting at the same time as the baby, which he seems to think exists already by the way he stands around staring at you and muttering little prayers. Of course he is also very worried for fear you will get the idea that he is regarding you merely as a future mother and not as a present person, or that he wants a child merely as a vindication of his vanity. I doubt if those things are true; White enjoys animal husbandry of all kinds including his own; and as for his regard for you, he has told me that, quite apart from this fertility, he admires you in all kinds of situations or dilemmas, some of which he says have been quite dirty.

Well, Mrs. White, I expect I am tiring you with this long letter, but as you often say yourself, a husband and wife should tell each other about the things that are on their mind, otherwise you get nowhere, and White didnt seem to be able to tell you about his happiness, so thought I would attempt to put in a word.

White is getting me a new blanket, as the cushion in the bathroom is soiled.

Lovingly, Daisy

8. Charles Eames’ marriage proposal to Ray Eames:

Dear Miss Kaiser,

I am 34 (almost) years old, singel (again) and broke. I love you very much and would like to marry you very very soon.* I cannot promise to support us very well. but if given the chance I will shure in hell try

*soon means very soon.

What is the size of this finger??

as soon as I get to that hospital I will write reams well little ones.

love xxxxxxxxxx

Charlie

9. Jean-Paul Sartre to Simone de Beauvoir:

My dear little girl

For a long time Ive been wanting to write to you in the evening after one of those outings with friends that I will soon be describing in A Defeat, the kind when the world is ours. I wanted to bring you my conquerors joy and lay it at your feet, as they did in the Age of the Sun King. And then, tired out by all the shouting, I always simply went to bed. Today Im doing it to feel the pleasure you dont yet know, of turning abruptly from friendship to love, from strength to tenderness. Tonight I love you in a way that you have not known in me: I am neither worn down by travels nor wrapped up in the desire for your presence. I am mastering my love for you and turning it inwards as a constituent element of myself. This happens much more often than I admit to you, but seldom when Im writing to you. Try to understand me: I love you while paying attention to external things. At Toulouse I simply loved you. Tonight I love you on a spring evening. I love you with the window open. You are mine, and things are mine, and my love alters the things around me and the things around me alter my love.

My dear little girl, as Ive told you, what youre lacking is friendship. But now is the time for more practical advice. Couldnt you find a woman friend? How can Toulouse fail to contain one intelligent young woman worthy of you*? But you wouldnt have to love her. Alas, youre always ready to give your love, its the easiest thing to get from you. Im not talking about your love for me, which is well beyond that, but you are lavish with little secondary loves, like that night in Thiviers when you loved that peasant walking downhill in the dark, whistling away, who turned out to be me. Get to know the feeling, free of tenderness, that comes from being two. Its hard, because all friendship, even between two red-blooded men, has its moments of love. I have only to console my grieving friend to love him; its a feeling easily weakened and distorted. But youre capable of it, and you must experience it. And so, despite your fleeting misanthropy, have you imagined what a lovely adventure it would be to search Toulouse for a woman who would be worthy of you and whom you wouldnt be in love with? Dont bother with the physical side or the social situation. And search honestly. And if you find nothing, turn Henri Pons, whom you scarcely love anymore, into a friend.

[]

I love you with all my heart and soul.

10. Honor de Balzac to Countess Ewelina Haska (June, 1835):

MY BELOVED ANGEL,

I am nearly mad about you, as much as one can be mad: I cannot bring together two ideas that you do not interpose yourself between them. I can no longer think of nothing but you. In spite of myself, my imagination carries me to you. I grasp you, I kiss you, I caress you, a thousand of the most amorous caresses take possession of me. As for my heart, there you will always be very much so. I have a delicious sense of you there. But my God, what is to become of me, if you have deprived me of my reason? This is a monomania which, this morning, terrifies me. I rise up every moment say to myself, Come, I am going there! Then I sit down again, moved by the sense of my obligations. There is a frightful conflict. This is not a life. I have never before been like that. You have devoured everything. I feel foolish and happy as soon as I let myself think of you. I whirl round in a delicious dream in which in one instant I live a thousand years. What a horrible situation! Overcome with love, feeling love in every pore, living only for love, and seeing oneself consumed by griefs, and caught in a thousand spiders threads. O, my darling Eva, you did not know it. I picked up your card. It is there before me, and I talked to you as if you were here. I see you, as I did yesterday, beautiful, astonishingly beautiful. Yesterday, during the whole evening, I said to myself She is mine! Ah! The angels are not as happy in Paradise as I was yesterday!

11. Napoleon Bonaparte to Josphine de Beauharnais:

I am going to bed with my heart full of your adorable image I cannot wait to give you proofs of my ardent love How happy I would be if I could assist you at your undressing, the little firm white breast, the adorable face, the hair tied up in a scarf a la creole. You know that I will never forget the little visits, you know, the little black forest I kiss it a thousand times and wait impatiently for the moment I will be in it. To live within Josephine is to live in the Elysian fields. Kisses on your mouth, your eyes, your breast, everywhere, everywhere.

12. John Keats to Fanny Brawne:

My sweet love, I shall wait patiently till tomorrow before I see you, and in the mean time, if there is any need of such a thing, assure you by your Beauty, that whenever I have at any time written on a certain unpleasant subject, it has been with your welfare impressd upon my mind. How hurt I should have been had you ever acceded to what is, notwithstanding, very reasonable! How much the more do I love you from the general result! In my present state of Health I feel too much separated from you and could almost speak to you in the words of Lorenzos Ghost to Isabella

Your Beauty grows upon me and I feel A greater love through all my essence steal.

My greatest torment since I have known you has been the fear of you being a little inclined to the Cressid; but that suspicion I dismiss utterly and remain happy in the surety of your Love, which I assure you is as much a wonder to me as a delight. Send me the words Good night to put under my pillow.

Dearest Fanny, Your affectionate J.K.

13. Lord Byron to Teresa Guiccioli (August, 1819):

My dearest Teresa,

I have read this book in your garden;–my love, you were absent, or else I could not have read it. It is a favourite book of yours, and the writer was a friend of mine. You will not understand these English words, and others will not understand them,–which is the reason I have not scrawled them in Italian. But you will recognize the handwriting of him who passionately loved you, and you will divine that, over a book which was yours, he could only think of love.

In that word, beautiful in all languages, but most so in yours–Amor mio–is comprised my existence here and hereafter. I feel I exist here, and I feel I shall exist hereafter,–to what purpose you will decide; my destiny rests with you, and you are a woman, eighteen years of age, and two out of a convent. I love you, and you love me,–at least, you say so, and act as if you did so, which last is a great consolation in all events.

But I more than love you, and cannot cease to love you. Think of me, sometimes, when the Alps and ocean divide us, –but they never will, unless you wish it.

14. Voltaire to Olympe Dunover, written while in prison for their affair:

I am a prisoner here in the name of the King; they can take my life, but not the love that I feel for you. Yes, my adorable mistress, to-night I shall see you, and if I had to put my head on the block to do it.

For heaven’s sake, do not speak to me in such disastrous terms as you write; you must live and be cautious; beware of madame your mother as of your worst enemy. What do I say? Beware of everybody; trust no one; keep yourself in readiness, as soon as the moon is visible; I shall leave the hotel incognito, take a carriage or a chaise, we shall drive like the wind to Sheveningen; I shall take paper and ink with me; we shall write our letters.

If you love me, reassure yourself; and call all your strength and presence of mind to your aid; do not let your mother notice anything, try to have your pictures, and be assured that the menace of the greatest tortures will not prevent me to serve you. No, nothing has the power to part me from you; our love is based upon virtue, and will last as long as our lives. Adieu, there is nothing that I will not brave for your sake; you deserve much more than that. Adieu, my dear heart!

Arout (Voltaire)

15. Henry VIII to Anne Boleyn:

TO MY MISTRESS. Because the time seems very long since I heard concerning your health and you, the great affection I have for you has induced me to send you this bearer, to be better informed of your health and pleasure, and because, since my parting from you, I have been told that the opinion in which I left you is totally changed, and that you would not come to court either with your mother, if you could, or in any other manner; which report, if true, I cannot sufficiently marvel at, because I am sure that I have since never done any thing to offend you, and it seems a very poor return for the great love which I bear you to keep me at a distance both from the speech and the person of the woman that I esteem most in the world: and if you love me with as much affection as I hope you do, I am sure that the distance of our two persons would be a little irksome to you, though this does not belong so much to the mistress as to the servant.

Consider well, my mistress, that absence from you grieves me sorely, hoping that it is not your will that it should be so; but if I knew for certain that you voluntarily desired it, I could do no other than mourn my ill-fortune, and by degrees abate my great folly. And so, for lack of time, I make an end of this rude letter, beseeching you to give credence to this bearer in all that he will tell you from me.

Written by the hand of your entire Servant, H.R.

16. Leo Tolstoy to Valeria Arsenev (November, 1856):

I already love in you your beauty, but I am only beginning to love in you that which is eternal and ever previous your heat, your soul. Beauty one could get to know and fall in love with in one hour and cease to love it as speedily; but the soul one must learn to know. Believe me, nothing on earth is given without labour, even love, the most beautiful and natural of feelings.

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from The 16 Most Beautifully Touching Love Letters From Famous Writers And Artists