#something special has died this month and it will soon vanish in the coming months

[steakout-05]

something about Cohost going read-only last week feels very... deeply saddening to me in a way i'm not sure i can verbalise with emotions alone. like there's a sense of bittersweet sadness seeing everybody pour their hearts out for the dying platform, celebrating the life it had, saddening eulogies and pieces of vibrant art, joyfully commiting all the css crimes they can before the inevitability of read-only mode hits them... and then suddenly, when the clock strikes 12 on the last day, it all goes silent. the posts stop being posted. the endless voices of the users go eerily quiet. the site freezes in time, not quite dead yet but very much not alive anymore. it has effectively become a rotting time capsule, slowly waiting for the day everything goes offline for the final time ever. we all knew it was coming, and yet it still feels like it took us all by surprise when it happened. Cohost is now a shell of its former self. it feels like walking through a hall of crumbling stone people, captured in their final moments of celebration, sadness, reflection, all no longer living but still looking as though they were, terracotta ghosts slowly rotting away.

i think the quote "I felt a disturbance in the Force, as if millions of voices suddenly cried out in terror and were suddenly silenced" fits really well with how this makes me feel. this sounds like a VERY strong way to feel about a silly website with eggs and bugs and css tomfoolery, but it's always sad to see a cornerstone of the internet that held a tight-knit community of thousands of people disappear into the ether, especially in such a slow and quiet way. looking at the site in the state it is now gives a lonely sort of sadness. staring in the face of a community frozen in time and knowing it was once vibrant and lively just a year ago. it's a very weird feeling.

[siriannatan]

Ghost of Tumble Town - one shot

Yeah... @doodleshrimps' Bandit AU inspired me to write something about this idea of mine.

Warning, it is a bit sad at the start.

AO3 link for anyone who prefers to read there.

Canon differences (might contain spoilers):

warden wasn't brought to Tumble Town by fWhip,

it killed Jimmy, respawn is not a thing in this au, not for most. Joel and Scott can respawn but that's a god/fae thing and Scott's keeping it a secret,

totems are a thing and can stop you from dying. Very valuable and rare,

Norman and Flick returned as ghosts with Jimmy and the rest of the citizens.

Jimmy missed the hermits' 'visit' while dead/ getting used to being a ghost, not wanting to freak them out.

Scott didn't care how many jabs Joel tossed at him for still visiting Tumble Town even after Jimmy was gone. It wasn't like the 'god' knew Scott was a fae and how distant and foreign concept death was to him. Fae are immortal. He would never die. As long as he had access to magic it is… But that wasn't really death. Not how mortals understood it. A fae without magic just fades away until there are just faint memories of them left. Why Scott was so careful with keeping his real identity a secret? Being known as a weirdo with llamas was better than being known as a powerful fae. Especially with a witch around. As un-witchy as Shubble was it was better to be safe than risk his wings. 

Jimmy, the sheriff was probably the only one who figured him out. Shockingly, considering how dense he was. And didn't treat him any differently. Mostly. He did keep iron away from places Scott would visit in town. Would put his badge away when Scott was around. He did not mind how particular Scott was about specific order of things, and names, and greetings and… and all the fae stuff. Even if Scot never showed him his wings.

Which is probably why he never hid them when visiting Jimmy's grave. It was nothing special. just a mound of mesa sand with a crude cross marking the stop. No one wanted to stick around after the Warden just out of nowhere, seemingly, showed up and wrecked the town. Killing all the citizens and the sheriff. Vanishing without a trace soon after. Only then did the other emperors dare to come and check for survivors. There were none. Not even Jimmy's cats…

It was nearly two months ago. Before the rift business happened. And yet, despite never caring much for mortal races, humans even less than others, Scott found himself coming back again and again. To leave fresh flowers and take away the dry, ruined by howling wind old flowers from the last visit. And quietly tell the silent grave what has happened in the past week. Followed by sitting quietly until the silence and lack of colour drove him almost insane. 

Just to repeat it next week.

And so, Scott sat, his wings covering the grave in pretty colours with the light of the setting sun. Thinking it's about time to go back to Chromia. Not that they couldn't survive one night without him. Owen shouldn't be too much of an issue for some time…

"You brought poppies today…"

A sudden, familiar but impossible voice had Scott jolting to his feet and looking around. No one was on the ground so he looked at the full of holes ruin of Jimmy's house. There, on the roof, sat Jimmy. Looking almost as he did the day he died. But not quite. There was something off. Something unnerving but Scott ignored it. Too happy to see him.

"Jimmy? But you…" if he wasn't a fae and didn't have complete control of his emotions he'd probably crumble down crying. "You said they're your favourites once…"

Jimmy shrugged and jumped down. There was no sound as he landed, and Scott could swear he saw him sink into the ground a little bit. "I got better, I think…" he hummed. There was this weirdly distant quality in his voice. Like he was both here and somewhere else. "You weren't kidding, your wings are really pretty," Jimmy hummed going to touch Scott's wing but… his hand passed right through the fae. "Yeah… still figuring that out…" the sheriff chuckled taking a step back.

Scott didn't need to be told what 'that' was. What Jimmy was now. He did die. And now was back, as a ghost. And not just some ghost. As the blonde idly floated a few inches off the ground, likely forgetting to keep himself on the ground, Scott could see the magic radiating off of him. Cold and dry, neither good nor bad. Death didn't take sides. It just took people away. The good, the bad and all in between. "It's okay. I was a bit lost and overwhelmed when I left fae realms," Scott shook his head, smiling a bit. He was just happy to talk to Jimmy again. "It's good to see you again," he said reaching out to at least try to touch Jimmy's face. 

It worked and he could feel Jimmy's face. It was like cold wax. Not budging in the slightest under his touch. Scott met a few ghosts before settling where Chromia is now but Jimmy was different. Slightly translucent but not at all see-through. And much more present. Most of the other ghosts Scott knew would already forget who he was and move on to different things. Not Jimmy. He was staring at Scott even if his glassy, dead eyes occasionally glanced at the simple grave.

"Must have been a chock with how much you like colours…" Jimmy hummed tearing his eyes off the grave.

"Eh, winter fae's lands are always covered in snow, all in shades of white and grey with some green at best," Scott shrugged making a bit of snow whirling in one hand. "How are you feeling?" he asked letting it disperse. "We saw the aftermath… it was even worse than now…"

Jimmy shrugged, forcing himself to the ground. "I saw it, I think… the just after is a bit fuzzy, I was being pulled away but… something kept me here… It felt like the after is not meant to me for some reason…" he hummed walking out into the ruined town. Slowly more and more ghosts appeared, greeting their sheriff as if they were not all dead. "Like this was the end and there was nothing more…" he carried on talking as Scott silently followed. Watching the ghosts clean up the rubble.

The biggest shock was when two cats ran out of the sheriff's home, through a solid wall, and meowed, in that distant ghostly undertone. Rubbing against Scott's legs. They always liked him. Part of being a fae is being loved by all animals. Alive or dead, it turns out.

"Should I tell others you're…back or give you some more time to settle back into things?" he asked glancing at the sun. It was getting really low. Maybe he could stay the night now that the sheriff was back in town?

"Maybe wait a few days? Until this place isn't as much of a mess?" Jimmy grimaced stopping in front of the bank. It was pretty ruined, but, shockingly, nothing that was inside when the Warden attacked was missing. Scott heard some of the other emperors whisper about the place being cursed. "You can stay the night… if you don't mind all the ghosts…" Jimmy offered saving Scott asking.

"I don't mind," Scott grinned. "It's still the same Tumble Town, and it's not like I can die anyway," he shrugged as a dead bird flopped right next to him.

They were silent for a second, staring as the ghost of the bird left the body and dodged the ghostly cats that wasted no time pouncing at it. And laughed as it flew to a tree. They probably should have been worried about it but at the moment watching Norman and Flick chase it was funny. And fae had a rather unique sense of humour anyway and found dead birds very amusing even when they didn't leave ghosts behind.

[readingforsanity]

The Wife You Know | Chad Zunker | Published 2024

Everything he knows about his wife is called into question when she mysteriously vanishes in a breathtaking novel of suspense by Amazon Charts bestselling author Chad Zunker.

Widower Luke Driskell didn't expect to fall in love and marry again so quickly. But Ashley and her daughter, Joy, are special - a quality borne out when Ashley rushes into a burning daycare center to save the children. Immediately she's a social media sensation and hero. Then, just as suddenly, Ashley and Joy disappear into the bitterly cold night.

With no trace of their whereabouts, Luke begins a panicked investigation. Alarmingly, he can find no proof that the woman he loves even exists. Left behind: just a hidden stash of fake IDs. Different names. Different cities. Same haunted face. Now the devastated husband has only questions: who did he marry? What is she hiding?

Luke's cross-country pursuit of the truth soon spins into something more dangerous than he imagined. Because Ashley's secrets run so deep and dark that finding her could threaten all their lives.

Luke Driskell is a 30-year-old widower, living in Vail, Colorado. After his parents died when he was 4, he lived a life of poverty with his grandfather, a man of seldom words who drank from sun up to sun down and had very little to do with his life, except for short bursts of parenting advice here and there. After his death, Luke thrived in college, before making it as a successful businessman in the world of technology.

After the death of his wife and unborn child, Luke relocated to Vail, Colorado, traveling back to California for work meetings but mostly working out of his own home. After meeting a young local artist named Ashley Tolly and her 3-year-old daughter, Joy, Luke fell in love with them both, and the two married just a few months before.

While away on a day business trip back to California, Ashley noticed and saved 8 pre-school children from a fire at a daycare center, receiving minor burns and smoke inhalation in the process. The entire situation had been captured on video and shared through the world of social media, becoming an instant sensation and people wanted to speak with Ashley. But, for the entire time Luke has known her, she's always been hesitant about leaving any sort of trail online, though would never explain why other than she preferred her privacy.

But, with this incident an instant viral situation, Ashley is now in the spotlight against her wishes. On the behest of the hospital staff, Ashley is advised to remain at the hospital overnight and Luke leaves to care for his stepdaughter. But upon waking the next morning, Joy is gone and Ashley cannot be contacted. Unsure of what to do, he begins searching for them throughout the town, coming up empty, until he finally discusses his options with the local police. Desperate, he also contacts a nationwide news station in Denver, going on air to speak about his efforts to find his family and offering a $1 million dollar reward for information leading to their whereabouts.

Luke is eventually contacted by a FBI Agent, only named Chang, said to want to talk to Ashley about the incident as they suspect arson was at play during the fire. However, after contacting a satellite FBI officer, where a former basketball rival, Danny Lamar, is now a Special Agent, Luke knows now that Chang isn't whom he said he was. And for Danny Lamar, becoming involved in the situation quickly leads to his death after Luke discovers a bag with four identities inside, all with pictures of Ashley with different names and addresses spread throughout the country.

Desperate to find out what happened to Ashley and Joy, he slowly begins piecing together what could have happened to her. Ashley had always been demure about the identity of Joy's father, simply stating that he had been a gallery owner in Laguna Beach, California and he had died in a car accident shortly after Ashley found out she was pregnant. However, that gallery owner turned out to have been murdered, and had been gay, therefore could not have been involved romantically with his wife.

Moving on to the other states and towns listed on her fake IDs, Luke is able to figure out that Ashley was in fact Sarah Bowman, believed to have died in a China prison cell when she was just 20 years old, visiting the country on an international mission trip. After discovering that Ashley had been adopted when she was 14 years old out of the foster care system by a woman namd Janny, who had also died four years ago, he meets with Janny's sister to learn more. Claudia tells Luke that Janny had received a call from someone claiming to be Sarah, and a few days later, after requesting help from a local government official named Pullson, ended up drowning in her bathtub, which CLaudia had initially believed to have been suicide after simply not getting over the death of her daughter.

When Luke is attempting to get back to his hotel room after confronting Senator Pullman regarding the mysterious phone call that Sarah had made to her mother, he is confronted by two large security men who take him captive, but he is eventually saved by former CIA agent Nick Cantley, who he had first encountered in the office of his home in Vail, discovering that this mysterious man stole $10,000 in cash.

The two of them are able to get away, and though he doesn't wish too, he promised Ashley to tell LUke the truth: that she had found a man raping one of the young girls she had been involved with in China during the mission trip, and had been taken captive by this man, and the story of her death was put out in order for him to hold onto her. After this man's own two young daughters found her, he kept her captive at his home in order for Ashley to teach his young children all about the U.S. and its customs, including teaching them to speak English. However, Ashley met the U.S. Ambassadors son, Han Liu, and the two quickly fell in love. They married in secret, after Han converted to Christianity to be with Ashley. Ashley was pregnant at the time, and this unfortunately led to Han Liu being executed at the behest of his own father.

Nick had been involved in the rescue mission to attempt to save Ashley and Han from the Chinese government, and helped Ashley return to the U.S. and began giving her new identities in order to make a life for herself, keeping away from the Chinese government as they had wanted Joy back in China, the only child of the son he had had murdered.

Luke is given the choice to return to his own life, where he will continue to be monitored by the Chinese government, to be used as bait, hoping Ashley would return to him eventually; or he could completely cut off his old life and create a new one with Ashley and Joy in a remote location, completely off the grid. Luke has no choice but to leave behind his old life, promising the both of them that he would leave everything behind in order to be with them.

A week later, Luke is reunited with his wife and stepdaughter.

[dreamkidddream]

Happy Birthday Diavolo! || Diavolo

The last fic of Spooktober is finally here!! 🥳 thanks for reading and suggesting ideas for it, it was honestly fun even if it took basically two months to finish 😅 the 800 follower special is next! Thanks for all the support and reader is gender neutral! 💙

Dream’s Spooktober 2021

“Ah MC, do you mind if I steal you for a moment?”

“I think I should be asking you that, but of course!” You laughed and grasped Diavolo’s hand that he held out. You don’t know how someone of his stature would be able to sneak out of his own ball, but alas he found a way. Weaving you through his own castle and barely avoiding the other higher class demons (and almost having a run in with Lucifer himself), you found yourselves in his room, the click from the lock ringing in the air.

“I apologize for taking you away from the festivities, but I figured that we could both use some fresh air, and there is something I need to speak to you about privately.”

“Oh what is it? Is everything okay?” You worried. He looked troubled, and that wasn’t an expression you were used to seeing on him. It was the opposite from the joyous demeanor that he would show.

“Hopefully it will be.”

You raised an eyebrow, officially lost. You’ve never seen him be so conflicted before. What exactly is he talking about?

“I understand that you already gave me my present, and while I am vastly appreciative of it, I realize that I yearn for something else.” He held onto your hands ever so delicately, rich golden eyes locked onto your own. “It’s my own fault for not telling you sooner, but I hope that it isn’t too late to receive it.”

It did sting a little to know that your original gift wasn’t enough, but if you were able to make up for it now it doesn’t make sense moping around about it. The heat you felt just from interlacing your fingers together combined with his massive form was enough to leave you dizzy. You forget just how majestic he looks in his true form, the gold adorning his body showing his status as a true royal. From the regal jewels to the grand pairs of wings that twitch ever so often, your eyes were automatically drawn to him.

You were snapped out of your stupor when he gave your hands a slight squeeze. “MC. I honestly don’t know where to start.” He laughed bashfully. You noticed the blush that was steady growing on his cheeks, and as his laughter died down, the smile remained. “All of the visions that I have for the future of the Devildom are coming to fruition. The three realms are in peace with one another, the brothers’ family is reunited more than ever, and…the loneliness that I was once used to feeling each night has vanished. This couldn’t have been done without you MC, and for that, I am forever in your debt to you. No amount of words could ever explain the gratitude that I hold for you. Nor can it explain how far I have fallen in love with you.”

The air shifted, and your heart was fluttering even more at his words, the warmth spreading throughout your body increasing each second.

“Is it so wrong that I want to keep you by my side for all eternity? To be selfish enough that I won’t ever have to fear losing you?” He continued. “And I have thought long and hard with what I wish from you, but the only thought that continues to cross my mind is to have you entirely. I desire you MC, and nothing is more valuable than the time that I get to spend with you each passing moment.”

Then he proceeded to drop down on one knee, placing a kiss gently on each of your fingers, never losing eye contact with you. “I know that one day I will soon rule over the Devildom, and I wish for you to be by my side when the time comes. I wish for you to be by my side now, and to never leave.”

You stroked at his cheek, grazing your fingertips along his curved horns, not missing the shudder that he gave along with his low purr. Diavolo’s gaze glowed in the dim room, the rich gold twinkling in the moonlight. His blush was on full display now, but he was beaming with nothing but pure affection.

“Choose to become mine MC, and let me become yours for all eternity.”

As he finished, you couldn’t help but let out a joyous laugh, tears brimming in your eyes. “Yes, Diavolo, yes! The answer will always be yes.”

He let his own laugh in return, and spin you around in glee. The only things that could be heard coming from his room was the sound of your combined laughters. You both inched closer until pressed his lips against yours softly, the one of many to come.

You made him the happiest demon, and now he gets to return the favor for all eternity.

[lostdreamr-blog1]

Open When You Feel Like You Aren't Enough

Requested: a few people asked for this one and I hope it’s everything you were wanting!

Summary: Dean’s time is up, and the hellhounds have come to collect. He knew leaving you would be hard, so he left a bunch of letters to help you cope. Even if it was only for a few months…

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 707

To my Apple Pie,

You know, I went back and forth on if I was going to write this one because in my eyes you are nothing short of perfect. But part of me knew I should add this to the pile because for some reason you get it in your head that you aren’t enough. And it took me some time to realize what all that meant for you. So, I will do my best and try to cover all the possibilities for you.

If you feel like you aren’t enough for this world, that what you do is meaningless, then sweetheart you sure as hell better keep reading. I want you to think about all the people we have saved, the kids who get to sleep at night knowing the monster in their closet is nothing but the shadows of their clothes. We don’t put ourselves through all this shit for the payout or the glory. We do it because if we don’t, who will? Sam and I were a damn good team. We always knew what the other was going to do without having to say it out loud. And when you came along and wedged your pretty little self into our lives, I had my doubts about any of it going smoothly. But damn sweetheart did you prove me wrong. It was like the piece we never knew was missing fit perfectly into our messed-up life. Hunting became simple, the jobs became shorter, and the stress I carried around seemed to vanish overnight. And if you think that was all Sammy’s doing then you’ve had one too many beers. See, you walk into someone’s life and make an impact no matter how short of a time you’ve spent with them. There was always a part of the job that I wasn’t exactly the best at, yes I am man enough to admit that, but you did it with ease. And that was talking to these people who were affected by whatever we were hunting. You just have this ease about you that makes people gravitate towards you and it always seemed to come in handy when it came to calming people down. Hunters don’t care about anything but to gank the monster they are after. You care about making sure everyone is okay after the dust has settled and that makes you special. It makes you worth a hell of a lot more than the rest of us.

If you feel like you aren’t enough for me, then you are downright crazy. God sweetheart, you are so out of my league it isn’t funny. I don’t know if you know this, but I was a bit of a ladies man before you. I never had to work hard to get a girl to notice me, but you gave me a damn good slap of reality. Moving out of the friendzone you carelessly threw me in was something that had me sweating for a while. It was like nothing I did seem to impress you and I got desperate enough to ask Sammy for help. Who knew all it would take was a slice of pie and some cheesy romance movie to win you over? It took me years to realize why those two things mattered so much to you. Everyone knows I don’t share my pie and I don’t do chick flick moments. And when you saw me do both of those things, you knew I was serious. That you were worth me putting myself out there and fighting for you. Y/N, you made me a better lover, a better brother, and better man. The fact that you would even think you weren’t enough for me is something I can’t wrap my mind around. Any guy would be lucky to have you and to call you my girl until the day I died is something that’s not lost on me. I’m sorry that I couldn’t be enough for you and give you everything you deserve. But know you worth more than anything this world has to offer you. I hope this letter gave you what you needed. Or at least helped in some small way. I love you, sweetheart. Forever and always.

Dean

I hope you liked this one! If you have requested a letter, I promise it is coming soon!! Thank you all for showing this series so much love!

Tag List: @stitchintimefan @princessvader15 @leigh70 @peaches007 @deanscroissant

[spidernerdsblog]

Heyyyyyy👋

I hope you don’t mind me requesting a peter parker where the reader is in a coma and some girls are hitting on him and asking if he is taken and he said like “yes, I’am just waiting for my princess to wake up” something like that. If you’re comfortable with it ofc.🙂 or just the reader asking him what would he say to the girls who’s hitting on him🥰 thank you in advance💕

Hey! Your ask kinda low-key made me sad but honestly I love it thank you for requesting. Hope you like this. Took a little inspiration from the amazing spiderman 2 where Gwen dies but here the reader goes into a comatose state instead.

Song inspo - Sunflower by post malone

Pairing : Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings : none

You're a Sunflower

It's been three months now as Peter stands in front of his university leaving his high school life behind and stepping into his college life; though this is not exactly how he imagined it would be he had imagined to walk through these gates with you hand in hand by his side. But as fate would have it you now lay in a bed succumbed into an eternal sleep. 

The memory was still fresh in his mind of how Harry clad in his green goblin suit kidnapped you to get his revenge on him though Peter was able to subdue him not before Harry threw you down the building. You reached out your hand to Peter with fear in your eyes for help and even after Peter's desperate attempt to save you by shooting his webs, he couldn’t web you up in time as your body hit the ground with an impact that your humanly body couldn't withstand all he remembers was you looking at him smiling softly before closing your eyes for eternity. 

You were rushed to the hospital and admitted in the critical care unit. Your parents came running after they heard about your accident, Peter couldn’t look in their eyes because it was he for whom their daughter is battling with death. Peter cried and prayed for you the whole night. With a heavy heart the doctors informed that the impact of your fall had directly affected your brain sending you into a coma and they have no idea when or ever are you going to recover from that state. Peter thought it was all a lie, he didn't want to believe that he may have lost you forever. At his request and with your parents' consent Tony shifted you to the Avengers compound so your treatment could be done under better hands and you recover quickly but neither Bruce could provide him with a satisfactory answer of when are you going to come out of your comatose state. The only thing now he could do was wait, wait for you to one day open your eyes and pull him back in your arms, his safe haven, even if he has to wait all his life he will wait. 

He had never wanted you to get involved in his dangerous life and that is why he revealed to you his secret identity to let you know that you both can’t be together. But you had laughed it off and playfully said to him "Haha, I laugh at the face of danger!"

🌻

After his classes were done for the day Peter walks back home stopping by the flower shop to buy flowers for you. It was a part of his daily routine now everyday after college he would bring you sunflowers. They were your favourite flowers because you once said to him they symbolize ‘‘a person who has loved with sincerity and purity never forgets, on the contrary, truly loves until the end’’

And you were his sunflower. You were a ray of sunshine in his life and he always thought that your love was too much for him which he would never be able to reciprocate you back, he was lucky enough to be a part of your life because he doesn’t deserve you. He blames himself for your condition. You were a bubbly person who loved the outdoors, the bustle on the streets, visiting new places and meeting new people. And he wanted to be part of every little adventure in your life but alas he robbed you of your life.

Reaching the compound he goes to visit you in your room. He replaces the dry sunflowers in the vase with the fresh ones he bought for you and sits beside you. You looked so calm and peaceful. It pains him immensely seeing you lying motionless wired to an HRM, the rhythmic beeping of the machine a proof that your heart still beats and all hopes are not lost, not yet. 

He misses your carefree laugh, misses your sweet honey laced voice, your warm smile that could brighten up anyone’s day. He craves for your touch; he wants to feel your soft delicate hands again as you caress his wounds after every time he comes back wounded fighting the bad guys. 

Everyday it's a struggle for him to leave you like this. He wants you to call him back by his name like you used to do every night before he left for patrolling not wanting him to go and risk his life out there.

🌻

It was fresher’s night Peter had already decided to give it a miss and spend time with you but Ned and Flash had forcefully made him tag along which he reluctantly did. The party was at full swing, music booming and drinks flowing. Drunk boys and girls hitting upon each other. Peter was standing at an isolated corner drinking a coke by now a bunch of girls had tried to make a move on him which he had managed to decline politely. He was never the man to indulge in infidelity, he loved you dearly and no one can take your place in his life. You even once had jokingly asked what he would do if you vanish from his life would he move on and he had just placed his hand on your mouth warily asking you to never ever say such a thing again or even think of leaving him.

After sometime one of his classmates Felicia waltzed her way up to him.

‘‘Hey Parker why are you standing here all alone?’’

‘‘No I’m fine-’’ by the time he would stop her she was already dragging him to the dancefloor. She pulled him closer, her back pressed against his chest as she took his hands and placed them on her waist. Peter felt awkward as he gently swayed with her. Soon she began grinding against making Peter feel uncomfortable. He thought whatever was happening wasn’t right he pushed her away from him as she turned around looking at him in shock and confusion.

‘‘I’m sorry I-I can’t’’ He stuttered nervously and rushed out of the room to the ground for some fresh air as he felt suffocated. Seeing the scene Emma Frost, another classmate of his followed him. Though he backed off Peter was still feeling guilty he felt he kind of cheated on you as you lay unconscious, tears pricked his eyes.

‘‘What’s your deal man?’’ Emma asks him from behind startling him.

‘‘Uh.. what?’’ He asks, quickly wiping his tears with his hands.

‘‘I just saw you leaving Felicia on the dance floor. Who does that?! Every guy in the college wants to be with her’’ she snickers

‘‘I’m not every guy. Moreover, I’m not interested’’ he says blandly.

‘‘Are you taken?’’ she looked at him skeptical and his silence gave away the answer.

‘‘Damn! She’s indeed a lucky girl’’ she exclaims ‘‘to have such a loyal boyfriend like you these days is very rare. Can I see one picture of your special one?’’ she asks excitedly to which Peter obliged with a smile as he took out his phone from his back pocket and showed her a picture of yours looking all radiant and happy in a sunflower field just like the flowers which he had clicked when you both went on a small trip.

‘‘Here she is’’

‘‘She is beautiful’’ Emma approves with a smile ‘‘So where is she? Another college or at a totally different country?’’ Peter’s expression fell as sadness took over his features; he took a long sigh before he answered her question.

"She’s at the brink of life and death and I'm just waiting for my princess to wake up"

Feeback and suggestions are always welcome.

..................................................................................

Part 2

Requests are open.

Taglist : @peaches-parker @osterfieldshollandgirl @starcoadrienette2 @spideyth @allthisfortommy @thenoddingbunny-blog @larrystylinson-sus @bloodyscarlet @itstaskeen @dummiesshort @tutuabby28 @dramaholic18 @thehumanistsdiary @majo240820 @heyafellows @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @justafangirlduh @moniffazictress11   @goodgirlgonetom   @lyzalovealk @parkerpeterparker2004 @ladykxxx08 @joselyn001

[sidera-writes]

Back behind my house, there's a patch of ground you can't walk on, about ten feet across.

Just looking at it, there's nothing special about it. It's just a patch of bare ground, where nothing grows. Where leaves don't fall in the autumn, and where snow doesn't fall in the winters But if you stumbled across it on a clear day, you might walk right by it without even paying it any mind. Maybe even walk around it, on your way to somewhere else without even thinking why you didn't walk through the patch of woods where nothing grows, where branches don't fall into. Where you can't set walk.

Because something is already there.

I've spent hours, looking at the patch of ground from it's edge. Just. Looking. Not stepping forwards, never stepping forwards. Not even thinking about taking a single step forwards until I take a step back. Despite every cell in my body screaming to just take another step forwards, just like I've been doing my whole life, even the idea of putting one foot in front of the other vanishes as soon as I'm within a pace of that dry, cracked dirt, where it seems, even the though the sun shines everywhere else, even though I can clearly see how parched the soil is, see every grain and particle, it feels like the sun's light cannot reach it.

Something is there but I cannot remember what it is.

It keeps me up at night, sometimes it's all I can think about. Sometimes, months go by and I forget it exists completely, going about my day to day life, not a care in the world. But then, I feel a tug, a restlessness, not a need, just a feeling. To go into the woods, where I am once more confronted by the empty patch of ground that I cannot walk on.

It calls out to me when it grows lonely.

And every time I come back, after those short months, it's bigger. Not by much, a few inches maybe. Not something that would be noticed by someone who hasn't spent days thinking of nothing else, of the exact landmarks that demarcate it's boundary. Of trees and rocks that aren't there when I come back after a winter.

Why can't I remember it

The patch has gotten so big I can see it from my house. See the absence of trees where once the canopy was, see an outline of something that isn't there in the blizzard a few days ago. I walked over there, and the soft powdery snow is perfectly flat, except where the patch is. It's not bunched up in a snowdrift, like if there was a building there. There's just, a lack of snow. And dirt. There's definitely dirt.

There's no dirt there's no hole there's a lack of nothing an absence of absence and that absence has-

I tried a different tact of getting into the patch today. A rented a snowmobile, drove it out to the patch and tried to ride it over the edge. The engine died and stalled just as the nose was about to breach the border. There was enough snow piled up from the blizzard that it should have collapsed, sending us both into the patch but it held. I couldn't get it started again, so I left it where it was, to go take lunch and see if I could winch it back. It was gone when I came back. It gave me an idea.

It gave me a warning.

If I go right up to the edge, and wait long enough, it'll grow around me. And I'll finally feel that dirt under my boots. I should wait until summer, when the weather is better for standing around, but I can't risk forgetting about it, so I cleared out the local gas stations of hand warmers, put on my warmest gear, and packed my camp stove and three days of food. Water isn't an issue, another good reason to go now, while there's still snow in arms reach.

We talked, the Something and I. Talked until every star burned out in the sky.

I don't know who keeps writing in my journal. It can't be me I can't remember anything about what they say. The handwriting is the same as mine but it can't be me it is you stop it I didn't write that yes I did no I didn't there's something nothing out there it's just a fucking abyss patch of soil

Why don't I believe me

I need to get out of this house its too late I'll just go to my parents' house you don't even remember who they are of course I remember who they are then what do they look like.

Where do they live.

What are their names.

What is my name.

Oh God oh fuck what is my name where do I live this house is too big for just one person this bed is too big for just one person there's picture frames everywhere but no pictures I look in a mirror but I don't recognize the person staring back who is that who am I

Back behind my house, there's a patch of ground you can't walk on, about a hundred feet across...

[solaeter]

hate that I love you - Naoya Zenin [18+]

I haven’t actually written smut in like two years..well finished smutty content. I can barely start it and finish it, shame on me but I am pathetic °(ಗдಗ。)°. I am so nervous and shy, so pls no pitchforks and tomatoes _(:3」∠)_ this is a repost cause doubt hit me for a hot minute, but we gon be brave (*•̀ᴗ•́*)و ̑̑ 

Word Count: 2311

Request Status: OPEN

Warning[s]: Adult content, minors dni!! idk proper warnings cause my brain is fried atm, but there’s oral [f receiving], penetration which is given, slight manipulation? Naoya cause he’s a warning all on its own, noob attempt at dirty talk [I died k]. reader chan tries to hate naoya but can’t. It’s just porn without plot unless you squint.

Just when you thought you were safe, reality had another thing in mind. Strong hands pulled your hips up with a force that had your face hugging the pillow before you could register how you even allowed yourself to end up like this.

Why did it have to be now? You really thought you managed to get away. "Why are you doing this?" You turn your head, teeth latching to your bottom lip when two fingers glide along your clothed slit. 

"You don't seem to mind." Naoya remarked, his voice laced with disinterest and boredom while his eyes roamed your body. Three months..that's how long he's been without you. His favorite toy. "You're already so wet for me, miss my cock that much?" He questioned with a sneer, sliding your pretty little panties to the side. The sudden chill made you squirm and his words bit at your budding arousal.

"Couldn't you have found someone else to toy with?" You avoided his question, voice hitching when he slid a finger up your dripping slit, stopping at your clit and circling the bud ever so slowly. It wasn't fair how he could work your body so effortlessly. Your mouth parts as your eyes squeeze shut. 

Naoya smirks, his eyes never leaving your cute little cunt while you try to look as displeased as possible. You should have known getting away from him was quite literally impossible. He owned you. 

"Why should I find someone else when I only need you?" The sentence itself sounded sweet, but you knew it was far from what it suggested. Ever since you met Naoya, he's had you by the palm of his hand. He used you for his own needs, taking and taking before tossing you to the side. Yet, you lingered and remained loyal until you tried to end things. Naoya let you live in a false sense of newfound freedom, giving you just enough space before making your world tumble back down, right where he wanted you. 

Now, there was no denying that you looked absolutely stunning before him. Your body was meant for him, made for him to fuck over and over. You were his missing puzzle piece. When you don't answer Naoya, he clicks his tongue and brings his fingers down to your entrance, the tips teasing your hole before plunging knuckle deep, your walls clamping around him beautifully while you cry out.

The sudden intrusion made your thoughts muddle together and everything seemed to spin. Naoya could make you so stupid so easily and he laughs, so humorously. "Why would I find someone else when you're so..fucking worthless without me. I haven't even done anything and you're already stupid."

You glance back over your shoulder, cheeks burning when your eyes meet his cold ones. He never showed you an ounce of love, only half an inch of interest and a load of selfish, one sided desires. "I hate you." You spat while gripping the sheets when another finger eased its way inside you, stretching you further. Naoya curled his fingers roughly, swiping over the one spot that had stars in your eyes. He knew your body better than you knew it. Or so he claimed with a sense of pride. 

No matter how long you've been apart, Naoya would be sure to remind you that no one else will make you feel the way he does. Even if you're spouting words of hate, he just knows you won't stay away for too long. "Heh, sure you do." 

You wanted to be angry, call him out for being a vile piece of shit but nothing came out of your mouth besides helpless moans. 

"Look at you, so pretty and fucking useless. Baby can't even argue with me." Naoya talked down at you, thrusting his fingers in and out of your pretty cunt until you're clenching around him with a strangled, frustrated cry as pleasure washed over your body. "Damn, you couldn't even hold it in. I'm disappointed." Naoya removes his fingers and your hole clenches around nothing, searching for more.

Oh his little whore. To ruin you is his greatest desire. To have you so wrapped around him, that nothing else in this world can compare to what he does. It makes his blood boil in such a way he can't describe and it shoots straight down to his cock. But he can't have you just yet. 

Naoya has to break you more, see you crumble. So he flips you over and the gasp that leaves your pouty lips is nothing short of stupidly adorable. Even more so is how you look at him with wide, teary eyes. As if that would make his heart soften.

"Finally have something to say or are you just gonna stare at me like a fucked out fool?" Naoya spread your legs, bending to hike your skirt around your waist before fully removing your soaked panties. You were compliant, unmoving while he did as he pleased. To be honest, words failed you more when you needed them most. 

"I– please forgive me for leaving.." 

Naoya perked up when the words left your mouth, his own lips twisting into that of a sinister smile. "So you decided on being a good little bitch." He murmurs, placing a hot kiss on the side of your thigh. You always looked so good sprawled out before him, at his mercy. It had his mind spinning in circles, all the possibilities running rampant. "Where's your fight?" He asked casually, inching closer to your puffy cunt and you look down at him only to snap your head back onto the pillow. 

"I have none, I should have listened the first time." 

That sentence you knew by heart considering you've had to confess your wrong doings on multiple occasions. Naoya hums, content as his nose brushes against your sensitive bundle of nerves. Your body reacts on its own, knees bending and toes curling into the satin sheets. You tried to resist him, tried your damndest but it never worked. It frustrates you, so much that you groan and nearly close your legs around Naoya's stupidly pretty head. 

Firm hands catch your legs and dark eyes land on you. "Oh [Name], tell me what you're feeling. I'm dying to know." He didn't care. You let out a half laugh and sit up on your elbows. 

"I hate you. With my entire being but I can't get away. It's not fair. You're– ahh not f-fair." Your words falter when Naoya's tongue slides up your cunt, lapping up your essence before going back down to your entrance.

"Mhmm.." He listens half heartedly, instead enjoying the sweet taste of you that graces his lips. You became putty in his hands, just like that. So simple, one movement. One hand threaded through his short locks, fingers grasping onto what it could once his tongue dipped inside your awaiting hole. 

"Fuu–" You toss your head back, involuntarily pushing Naoya closer which causes him to chuckle and the rumbling of his body only has you sinking further into his palm. He watched you, how your chest would rise and fall as you panted, moaned and clung to him helplessly. Your reactions had his cock throbbing in his pants and he wasn't going to be able hold out much longer. 

Adjusting one of his arms, Naoya's fingers soon met your clit and circled it quickly, building you higher and higher. Your body jerks and he keeps a hold of you, halting your hips to keep you still. 

You tasted divine, like a special wine made just for Naoya. Your pretty moans were like music to his ears and when he pulls back, the whine that leaves your lips sounded almost sinful. "N-Naoya.." You look at him, eyes blown wide and vulnerable, so close to paradise. He smirks and continues his assault on your clit.

"What? You seem to be getting off just fine with my fingers. Now be a good little slut and cum for me." Naoya coos and just like that, your body listens to his every command. The coil snaps and your body trembles, legs spasming and threatening to close around his head but his unoccupied hand keeps them open while you cry out, incoherent words leaving your lips. 

Naoya can't deny the sight and he groans, the desire to fuck you clouding his thoughts. ""Ah– fuck – what a good girl." He praised, an odd thing coming from him but it has you smiling so stupidly. You watch Naoya through half lidded eyes as he eases you from your high, rubbing small, slow circles around your sensitive clit. Your hips still move with him, your body wanting more.

"Naoya..I need you inside me." You barely manage and if it wasn't for the fact Naoya was so turned on, he would have bitched at you. Instead he uses his free hand to undo his pants and free his aching cock from its hellish confines. 

Your eyes lock onto the throbbing member that now rests in his hand as he pumps it languidly. "Do you really deserve my cock? Last I checked," Naoya hovers above you, situating the tip right at your entrance. "You've been a bad girl." He teases you, pushing the tip just barely inside you before pulling back out. You whine, loudly with a pathetic pout forming on your lips. 

"Please, I need you. So bad, I'll never leave again!" You cry, beg and lift your hips in search of what you wanted so bad. All fight, resistance and negative feelings vanished when all your mind and body wanted was him to consume you..

“Is that so?” Naoya hummed, bottoming out inside of you before you could continue your pleas. Your eyes roll back and he has to suppress the groan that dares escape his own mouth. He never grew tired of how you felt; how your walls fluttered around his cock, how you took him so willingly. So easily. You were truly meant for him. 

The pace is set with languid thrusts, Naoya driving himself deep into your velvety walls. He watches your face contort and twist with pleasure and pain due to his size, it had him surging with a sense of animalistic pride. “Remember who you belong to.” He says lowly in your ear and all you can muster is a quick nod of your head as whimpers and cries leave your delicate lips. Your arms snake around his shoulders, keeping Naoya close while your legs lock around his waist.

“Look at you,” Naoya groans, shifting so that you now sat on his lap, his cock hitting places that made your head spin, “Taking me so well- goddamn - be a little louder. Let everyone hear what a slut you are.” He demands, his voice low and strained. You helplessly comply, bouncing up and down on his lap like a good girl. Your head was warped, just like he wanted. Every moan, cry and wail sounded like a symphony that was only meant for him. Naoya held your hips tightly, guiding your frantic movements, hitting every spot inside you that made you grasp onto him like some type of savior.

Ah yes, Naoya definitely is your savior in his sick twisted head. Though he hisses when your nails scratch his neck, leaving noticeable marks that surely would be questioned later. He didn’t mind, not in the slightest. If anything, it made him fuck you harder, his cock ramming your drenched hole as if it were his last day on this earth. The lewd sounds of your juices squelching every time he fills you had him going crazy and he ignored how you drenched his lap, uncaring of the mess since he so graciously caused it. 

“So close, Naoya please,” Your voice is weak and broken, body trembling as it reaches the peak of nirvana. Naoya wasn’t far off from his own release and instead of being a total asshole like he wanted to be, he held you close.

“Let it go, baby.” He urged before biting down on your neck, sucking the tender spot to leave a claim on your body. You whine and unravel, pleasure overwhelming your body, legs trembling and shaking, you were thankful to be on his lap or you would have gone down. Naoya continues to fuck you, chasing his own release and groaning loudly when hot ropes of cum paint your delicate walls. He fills you completely, uncaring if you ended up bearing one of his kids. Hell the thought only made him feel more possessive. It would give him a greater claim over you, keep you with him.

Before Naoya allowed himself to get aroused once more, he removed you off his lap and got off the dirtied bed to fix his clothing. You watch in your fucked out daze, the grips of confusion and longing playing tug of war in your heart. 

“W-Where are you going?” Your voice sounded so soft, so submissive. Naoya glances back and he admires his handiwork. You were an absolute mess. “You can’t..just leave me like this.” 

How desperate. Naoya bit back a laugh, bending to pick up your discarded panties and toss them onto your stomach. 

“If you want me so bad, you know where to find me.”

With that, Naoya bids his farewells and leaves you like you did to him three months ago. But he knew that you’d come crawling to him before the night ended.

On the other hand, you stared at the ceiling until your heart calmed down and were able to get off the bed. Would you run back to him? Even though you wanted to say no, your body said otherwise with the longing for his touch.

The only thing you knew for certain was that you hated that you loved him. 

[writingwithacupoftea]

The Perfect Birthday Present

Summary: Y/N Shelby’s birthday was fast approaching, and Tommy has no idea what to buy for her. Who would have thought that a night of drunken antics would give him the perfect answer?

Word Count: 2462

Y/B/M = Your birth month

A/N: Is this fic basically a belated birthday present to myself? Yes. Is it completely different to the one I planned? Absolutely 😂 Hope you all love this one as much as I do 💜

Upon Tommy's arrival back to Arrow House, Mary could tell as soon as he stepped out of the car that he was in a foul mood, even by his standards.

He'd been in London for the past week, sorting out some business. That part of the trip had gone well, Tommy had conceded, but the same couldn't be said for the other part of his mission: finding a birthday present for Y/N. In the past the Shelby's had clubbed together to buy presents, however this year Tommy wanted to get Y/N something special that was just from him.  

It was to be a thank you, really, for having put up with his shit for so long, yet never wavering in her loyalty to him. To say that he was supposed to be the one looking after her, for Y/N was his little sister, the roles had definitely been reversed over the last few years: she had helped him through his nightmares and opium addiction, provided him with brutal and blatant honesty (no matter how much he sulked or raged afterwards until he realised that she was right), and had dropped everything to move to Arrow House with him and Charlie after Grace's death.

To say that he was grateful for Y/N would be an understatement.

But seeing as everyone knew that Thomas Shelby was abysmal when it comes to talking about emotions, he wanted to show it in the only way he knew how – spending ridiculous amounts of his money on her.

He had dragged Ada through all of the best shops in London, looking for something spectacular to gift to Y/N. Tommy had ignored Ada's reminders about Y/N's love for simplicity and the little things: in his eyes, Y/N deserved the best that money could buy, so that's what he would get for her.

Yet nothing that they had looked at seemed quite right – it just wasn't Y/N enough. He should've realised then that Ada was right.

So Tommy returned to Warwickshire a day earlier than expected, empty-handed, exhausted and annoyed at himself.  

Curiosity took over, however, upon hearing music echoing through the halls of Arrow House. After following it, even Tommy's seemingly ice-cold heart melted slightly at the sight that greeted him home: Y/N has dug out the old gramophone, which hadn't been used since Grace had died, and she was dancing around the room with a whiskey in one hand and a half-smoked cigarette in the other.  

Tommy smiled softly at the sight of his sister swaying to the music, unaware that she was being watched. She looked young and happy and carefree, a far cry from her usual reserved and guarded self. Tommy forgot about his own troubles just watching her, enjoying seeing Y/N so alive.

But quickly, his mood changed and the smile vanished. Tommy found himself mourning, almost, the life that Y/N should've had, but because of him she could never live. Times like this shouldn't have been a rarity for his little sister: her whole life should have been filled with the unabated joy that exuded from her in this moment. Instead, she looked over her shoulder at every turn, cleared up the mess after each of his mistakes and constantly walked the streets with a target on her back.

Y/N chose this moment to turn around, having noticed that her glass was empty once again, and was momentarily stunned at seeing Tommy. That feeling passed in an instant, however, and she found herself barrelling across the room, throwing herself into her brother's arms. "TOM!" Her delight could be seen from a million miles away.

"You alright?" He rubbed her back gently as they hugged, and he noticed the strong smell of whiskey on her. "How many of those have you had?" Tommy gestured to the empty glass sat on the table, which Y/N was now refilling, along with a second one that she poured for him.

"Only one or two, Tom." Despite her best efforts to look and sound innocent, what Y/N didn't realise was that her flushed cheeks and the devilish glint in her eye gave her away, causing Tommy to smirk in amusement.

The track on the record changed to a lively Charleston, which only sounded vaguely familiar to Tommy's ears, however sparked far more of a reaction from his sister. She gasped loudly and downed her drink in one, slamming the glass down on the table, causing Tommy to raise his eyebrows at her. Y/N had a large smile plastered on her face as she exclaimed "Oh , I love this one!" She ran to turn the volume up, and started dancing once more.

"Won't this wake Charles up?" Tommy wasn't in the mood to deal with the screaming baby, especially if he was already fast asleep.

"Oh no, Tom, he's the reason I got the gramophone out in the first place. What I've discovered over the last few days is that your son adores music." Y/N turned to face Tommy, and adopted the matter-of-fact tone that she used so frequently with him. "A little dance to something upbeat to tire him out, then you put something gentler on and in no time at all he's out like a light."

Tommy felt guilt bubbling up inside of him, replacing his amusement at his younger sister's drunken state. Y/N had managed to find the solution that he had been looking for since Charlie's birth in a matter of days. It showed how little he knew about his own son, and was just another thing Y/N had had to figure out on her own, another problem that she had taken upon herself to solve for him.

Following Tommy's long silence, Y/N looked over at her elder brother, noticing the sad and far-away look on his face, and held out a hand dramatically towards him. "Will you join me, Tom, or have you forgotten how to dance?"

"I'm tired, Y/N/N. Another time, perhaps."

"So you have forgotten."

"Remember who taught you how to dance, sweetheart." His gaze softened as he recalled fond memories of his sister stepping on his toes. "Anyway, I don't think I could keep up with you now I'm older, as you kindly keep reminding me."

Y/N smirked at this. "Yes, Tom, but I'm older as well... that's how age works." She grabbed his hands in hers and started to force him to move his body a little to the music. "Come on, old man, you're not doing anything to help those creaking bones of yours!"

Tommy sighed, realising that he wasn't escaping, and reluctantly started to dance a bit with her. Y/N cackled at how out of practice he was, his movements stiff and face void of emotion, and was determined to get her older brother to loosen up before she went to bed.

***

A couple of hours later, the room was filled with laughter and both siblings had uncontainable smiles on their faces.

Everywhere was a mess. Records were strewn across the table, as they had quickly been through every one and couldn't remember which ones they liked the best; the furniture had been shoved to the side to make more space, with Tommy's suit and tie discarded on the sofa; and empty bottles of alcohol and various glasses were dotted around the room.

It's safe to say that Y/N had succeeded in her mission – Tommy was the happiest that she had seen him in a long time. She wished that this night could last forever, just her and her favourite brother in their own little world, where none of their worries could touch them.

***

The clock on the mantlepiece would have told Tommy that it was now the early hours of the morning, but he paid no attention to it

A slower tune played as the brother and sister swayed together in the middle of the room. Y/N was half-asleep, exhaustion having taken hold as her body caught up with the amount of alcohol she had consumed. It was rare for her to spend so much time with Tommy these days, despite having moved into his home, and she refused to waste one second of it while he was in the right mood.

As for Tommy himself, he was thinking; not at the fast-pace at which his thoughts usually raced, but just thinking. Well, more reminiscing. He hadn't spent a night like this since before the war; in fact he hadn't come close to feeling this free and at peace since before the war. Even when Grace was still here, his mind was more often than not occupied by business.

He thought about the not so little girl wrapped safely in his arms. Placing a soft kiss on the top of her head, he wondered ‘When did she become so grown up? Where did the time go?’

Breaking the quiet between them, Tommy only just heard his sister’s drunken mumbles of “This is the best birthday present ever,” and felt his heart melt even more.

He observed the contented smile that rested on his sister’s face and realised that Ada was right about Y/N: she lived for the special little things in life, she lived for family and for love, not money and jewels.  

Y/N lived for moments like this… and, just like that, Tommy knew what the perfect present would be.

***

Two days later, and it was Y/N’s birthday.  

Since it was a Sunday, all that she had wanted to do to celebrate was to have a big lunch with all of her family. So, the whole Shelby clan, spouses and children included, piled into Arrow House for one very chaotic afternoon.

Y/N couldn't have been happier with how the day turned out. Arguments were kept to a minimum (but Y/N secretly enjoyed the slight bickering that inevitably occurred), she was able to play with all of her nieces and nephews in the garden to her heart's content, and the whole of Arrow House had a buzz about it.

Even Tommy didn't seem to be as grumpy and pre-occupied as usual. Something had changed in her brother since that drunken night, and Y/N couldn't quite put her finger on what it was. But it was a change for the better, so she wasn't going to complain or question it. Despite her longing for a night like that again, she knew that it was an unrealistic dream: Tommy had far too much on his plate nowadays, even if Y/N thought that it would do him the world of good to let go every now and again. And, Y/N admitted to herself, she had missed her big brother much more than she realised.

But Y/N didn't dwell on that for too long, knowing that she'd miss out on things if she spent too long in her own head (such as John, who had just fallen out of a tree in an attempt to beat his own children in climbing it).

***

It was dusk before the family left, and as much as it was one of the best birthdays that Y/N could remember, she was glad for the quiet and a bit of time to herself.

After eating some more birthday cake and having a cup of tea on the bench in the garden, watching as the stars gradually appeared in the Y/B/M sky, Y/N retreated back inside having discovered that it was nearly midnight.  

Mary informed her that her brother had already gone up to bed for the night. On any other day, Y/N would have been surprised at this bit of news, knowing how late Tommy normally stayed up to work; but her family was exhausting when they were all together for half an hour, never mind half a day, so she quietly padded up the stairs to do the same.

Her attention was immediately drawn to a large box that rested on her bed the moment that she entered her room. Y/N would’ve been suspicious if it wasn’t for the note that sat on top of it:

“Happy birthday, sweetheart.

Love,

Tommy x”

Excitement and intrigue building up inside of her rapidly, she untied the messy bow (Tommy had clearly tried his best) and lifted the lid. Inside she found four new records and two bottles of whiskey. For a moment she was confused, but then she found a second note:

“For the next time…

T x”

Y/N felt her heart swell with emotion and tears began to line her eyes as she smiled.

She threw on her nightdress and wandered down the hall to her brother’s bedroom. Knocking gently, she pushed the door open slightly, just enough to stick her head around it. Tommy’s crystal blue eyes locked with hers and she suddenly found herself wondering why she was there at all: she and Tommy were both awful at things like this (when then were sober, anyway). There was a reason why he left the present somewhere that she would find it by herself, rather than giving it to her himself.

Suddenly feeling awkward, Y/N smiled slightly and nodded, not knowing what to say to her brother. As she began to close the door again, Y/N heard a slight chuckle from inside the room and Tommy softly called her name.

She shuffled back into the room, looking at anything but her brother sat on the bed. "I know it's late, but I just wanted to say -" But she was unable to finish that important sentence, a loud, long yawn having escaped her.

When she opened her eyes again, Y/N saw, to her surprise, an amused smile playing on Tommy's lips. He pulled back the covers on the other side of his grand bed, and raised his eyebrows, silently posing a question that he hadn't asked for a long time.  

In recent years, Tommy hadn't been overly affectionate: Y/N guessed that it was just another side effect of the war. So, when the opportunity arose for Y/N to get a hug from her brother (who used to give the best hugs, not that she'd ever tell her other family members), she would never refuse.

She half-ran over to the bed and snuggled under the duvet before Tommy could change his mind. Cuddling into his side and letting the warmth envelope her, the siblings lay there in silence for a while, perfectly content.

As Y/N's eyelids began to flutter shut, she mumbled into her brother's chest a soft "Thank you, Tom," that he only just caught.

Tommy tightened his arms around his Y/N's frame in response and pressed a kiss to her hair. He turned out the light next to him as he felt his little sister's breaths even out, and whispered so that no one else could hear: "No, darling, thank you."

[winterwolf0916]

Batboys with a Medium! S/O

Request: If you're still accepting Batfam requests; may I request Batboys having a medium S/O? It takes a toll on them if they witness things from horror movies A/N: Happy late spooky day. Also I apologize this is short. I felt really down today and I just felt so...sad for so many reasons. Anywho who cares... At the end of the day, there's a light at the end of the tunnel, right? Word Count: 1K

Dick

This man thought you were joking

A medium?

Fr?

Yeah he fought aliens, atlanteans-

He was raised well enough to know to never fuck with Amazons. He knows they’ll kick his ass but they adore him like a little baby

-people, crooks, animal like people, and a couple of other beings that are just questionable.

Yeah he remembers a lot of horror movies with those sorts 

Yeah he went against some “monsters” who actually turned out to be people like an episode of Scooby Doo.

But come on, ghosts?

Oh how he ate those words

He was only brushing his teeth in his apartment until he felt the room go cold and saw a woman with a half ripped face appearing in the mirror.

-Was that Dick screaming?-

You sighed and grabbed your items for communication since you’ve figured the apartment was haunted for like a good 2 weeks

Dick tried to stop you from ever entering the room

He should’ve listened to you but nooooo

His jaw dropped when he barged in the bathroom to find you and the lady giggling.

Turns out she thought her relatives still lived here and she wanted to give them a scare

Woops

After that night he believed you and promised to never make fun of the paranormal ever again

You help him so much on patrols

You get visions of the future and warn him about secret plans from every single villain

“Aha! It seems like you have fallen for-why is my henchman in my trap?” 

-Cue Penguin hanging off of a building and police cars surrounding him-

On a special day, it was Dick’s birthday

You woke him up before the sun was out and pulled him to the couch

He was confused before you held his hands and told him to close his eyes before-

Oh…

He sees his parents

He also communicated with them by your help

After a few hours, he was awakened from the couch and you gave a sheepish smile.

“Happy birthday.” 

Jason

“Am...Am I a ghost or a zombie to you?”

He was teasing of course. 

He died ok?

So of course he believes in the paranormal but he wouldn’t think they would do so much harm.

Until one night...

You pleaded him not to go out for patrol

Since earlier in the day you got a vision predicting how the night will go for Jason

He’s can’t miss patrol for the night he said

No reason to be scared of that warehouse he said

He’ll be alright, he said…

Please say sike right now 

As soon as he returned home, he was so shaken up.

Jason has always been so tough on the outside but this…

His walls were cracked open to the point where you could sense his dangerous aurora broken apart.

You were pretty angry at the spirits of what they did to your boyfriend 

He was trying his best not to act afraid in front of you and flinch by your touch

As he was fast asleep and you cleared away the bad dreams, you left to the warehouse and spoke with the spirits

Turns out those bastards were having a blast reminding him of the terrible trauma.

Oh was that how they felt?

You cracked your knuckles and gave those suckers a hell of vanishing.

How bad?

You caused a slight earthquake at Gotham Harbor giving those assholes thousands of punishments in various painful ways

Not a single soul decides to mess with Jason because of what happened that night

Like Dick, you and Jason would meditate so he could talk to his parents or his old friends.

He now believes you.

Tim

Ghosts?

Spirits???

Supernatural??????

This man sometimes uses tactics to keep himself awake at night

Watching horror movies was one of them

It was a semi for believing

He would sometimes be paranoid for certain things

Like someone watching him

Then after he confessed of his paranoia, it was strange that he never encountered that feeling again.

-You scared off a spirit that has been haunting him for the past month-

You would remind him where his items are before he could even ask or notice they were missing

“You left your jacket at the library.” “Your keys are on the counter hon.” 

Or “Babe have you seen my-” You pointed at the closet while going on your phone.

There are times when Tim have to leave for patrol after countless of all nighters

Which is something ludicrous and dangerous because one slip up could cost his life.

And you being you, would sometimes expose who was the one holding masacres or the location of the criminal to Bruce.

Or ask a friendly spirit of yours to haunt a crook for a short while so Tim would get some sleep instead of leaving for the night and haven't slept for a solid five days

Making sure he doesn’t get nightmares

You would give him calming dreams and making sure he has enough energy when he wakes up.

-You debating with Tim that tea was better than coffee-

Him asking odd questions.

“Is mothman real?” “Huh?” “Yeah, you’re right that’s too extreme… How about werewolves?”

He’s too cute

Damian

PFFT

In the beginning he thought you were pranking him but he slowly starts to believe you

Like-

“Beloved I told you I can’t-”

“Careful, you’re going to hit your face.”

“Wha-” the door slammed right on his face with full speed.

-Jason died that day-

Another time was when you were meditating while he was having trouble training

You helped him by asking a few favors from the spirits and the next day, his arm was better.

You were like Oracle to Damian during his missions. 

And his missions were pretty fast because of your visions

When one of his pets died, he felt so down for months.

So you did everything in your power to help him communicate with this deceased pet.

He felt better

Whenever your visions get intense and you start to get dizzy, he’ll always catch you when you go unconscious or fall back

You and Damian meditating together

Comforting him when he has nightmares and clearing them away

Damian pranking on Jon by using your tools for communication

When the Superson entered his room, there was a faint scream and sounds of furniture crashing. 

Damian was cackling as Jon came back to the living room and his face was pale

Boy, you were angry

You gave Damian a taste of his own medicine for a good 2 days before he asked -begged- for you to stop.

“Now you see how Jon feels.” “There’s a difference. I remained strong for 2 days while he couldn’t last five minutes.” “Ok then, I guess I could ask Benny to for a visit-” “L/n, put the Ouija Board down.”

[join-the-joywrite]

So before I say goodbye, would you do one last thing for me?

And take, take her to the moon for me

Reggie thinks about crossing over . . . and then he does

read on ao3 here

you can all thank @thedeathdeelers for it because of this post. and also you should all go listen to the song based off bing bong's take her to the moon line

They were going to cross over. Soon. It wasn't going to be some great big show of sparks or jolts of pain. Reggie could tell it was going to be a quiet affair that took them away unexpectedly.

Reggie sat alone most nights, wondering what his unfinished business had been. The Orpheum, though only half a year ago, felt like several years. Stealing Willie's soul back from right under Caleb's nose was just a few weeks ago but it felt like months. On these lonely nights, Reggie mentally relived his afterlife, trying to pinpoint some milestone moment that could've been it. Other nights, he distracted himself playing softly with Alex and Luke, or tweaking songs with Luke, or pathetically failing to learn skating with Willie. Or sometimes he would wander around the house and just do small things here and there.

Once, he did Carlos' forgotten math homework for him. Julie had scolded him about cheating with Carlos, but that had only been for a second before she relayed how grateful Carlos was and how much he wished he could see Reggie and say it himself.

Part of Reggie wanted to voice his thoughts about crossing over. Another part of him hoped that if he didn't talk about it, it wouldn't be real.

And then, one day, Willie vanished. As expected and understandably so, Alex was inconsolable. Reggie made the mistake of offhandedly commenting that it wasn't so bad. Maybe they'd meet up again after they crossed over. It wasn't much longer, now.

Alex was furious first. How could Reggie say that it wasn't so bad? Alex was confused after that. What did Reggie mean with all that? Alex was concerned in the end. Did Reggie really think they were going to cross over?

It was a nice thought, Alex would later tell Reggie. That they could be together when they crossed over and that he would see Willie again. But that wasn't going to happen for a long time. Luke agreed. They were going to take Julie to stardom before they ever considered leaving.

Reggie thought about Julie almost every minute of the day. He figured they would be okay with whatever happened after they crossed over. What would happen to Julie? Would it take her long to figure out what happened? Would their absence turn her away from music again?

That thought alone had bothered Reggie so much that even Carlos noticed. Things were messy around the house. His computer was open on Spotify and the music was blasting into his headphones. No one was beating his messy room for him anymore. Luke decided to talk to Reggie. It all came out in a rush, how he was so afraid that when they crossed over, it would tear Julie apart. After he'd sat with Reggie and listened to everything bottled up, Luke promised to talk to Julie seriously -- and that serious talk happened to be today.

Reggie, who had been laying on the floor while all these thoughts bounced around in his head, sat up suddenly.

The studio was silent.

"Alex?"

Denial set in very quickly. Not now. He wasn't ready yet. He'd known it was coming for at least one month but he was far from prepared.

Alex had to be around somewhere, right? Reggie suddenly realised he was just hoping for a sign of where Alex was moments before he accidentally stepped onto Alex's drumsticks and landed on his back.

The drumsticks rolled across the floor, coming to a slow stop at the wheel of Willie's skateboard.

Sometimes my mom sends me signs, Julie had said once, and sometimes I don't get it until much later but sometimes it's just so clear what she's trying to tell me.

Reggie stared at the drumsticks and the skateboard. Couldn't get much clearer than that.

Suddenly, Reggie was struck with the horrifying thought that Luke had vanished mid-conversation with Julie.

Not thinking before he leapt, Reggie poofed into Julie's room.

"You're not allowed to do that," Julie said casually. "You know that."

"Sorry. Uh, do you know where Luke is?"

Julie shook her head. "He just left a few minutes ago. Said something about wanting to get some lyrics out of his head. Isn't he in the studio?"

Reggie lied very easily and believably. "Oh, I was just downstairs. I haven't checked the studio yet 'cause I thought I heard you talking to someone up here."

Reggie didn't know why he was lying to Julie. He didn't know what was worse. Telling her the truth or wishing he had later.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he said with a chipper smile.

"Do you want a hug?"

Okay, so maybe he couldn't always lie well about everything. Reggie's nod was hesitant before it was quick.

Julie hopped off her bed and hung her arms loosely around Reggie. She let out a surprised yelp when Reggie wrapped his arms tightly around Julie.

"Someone's competing with Alex for best hug-giver."

Normally, Reggie would've laughed at that. But Alex was gone. Luke probably was too. Reggie would be gone soon too. He had to leave Julie's room. It would break her if she had to see it happen.

"Thanks, Julie."

Julie smiled brightly when Reggie pulled away. "Anytime. My hugs are free for all."

"You should get some sleep. W-we'll see you in the morning."

Why was he lying to her? He knew he'd be gone before she even fell asleep.

Maybe, if she thought they crossed over in the peace and quiet of the still night, she would feel better. Maybe, if she thought they crossed over while she slept, she would blame them for not waking her, not herself for not noticing.

"Fine. But not because you said to." Julie slid under her duvet and grinned at Reggie. She was mid-yawn before she realised. "I'll see you guys in the morning. Tell Alex and Luke I said good night."

"I will," Reggie said. And if he did happen to meet Alex and Luke, he would without a doubt deliver Julie's message. "I love you. We love you."

"Aww. I love you too, Reg."

Reggie left before he did or said something that would make Julie worry.

He meant to land in the studio. Instead, he found himself in the kitchen, his legs numb and a hollow emptiness in his chest.

"Reggie?"

Reggie looked up to see Carlos, backlit by the open fridge. "You should be in bed."

"You should be invisible."

"Uh . . . that's true."

Carlos kicked the fridge closed as he walked over to Reggie, quietly setting his glass on the island counter. "Are you okay? You look a bit sick. Can ghosts get sick? Is that a thing? Are there ghost doctors? Are they, like, special ghost doctors or just doctors that died?"

"That's too many questions at once, little man."

Carlos frowned. Reggie always answered every single question on the odd occasion that he could see and hear Reggie -- or even if Reggie was just chatting to him with Julie's phone. "Are you okay?" Carlos asked again, this time more serious and somehow even quieter than before.

"I will be." Another lie. He didn't know. But that didn't matter. What mattered was that Julie and Carlos didn't worry.

"What's wrong?"

Reggie wished he could hug Carlos like he had hugged Julie just a few minutes ago. "I, uh . . . I gotta go."

"Oh. Where are you going? You're gonna be back, though, right?"

"I don't know." The first truth Reggie had spoken all night. "But I won't come back."

"Wh-- . . . oh." Carlos glanced down at the floor.

"Hey," Reggie said, crouching down. Carlos was looking down at him now. "You're gonna be okay."

"But what about you? Are you gonna be okay?"

Reggie shrugged. "I hope so. Maybe I'll see you again when you're all old and wrinkly."

"Ha ha." Carlos' tone was sarcastic, but his smile was genuine. His eyes widened and a gasp caught in his throat when Reggie wiped away the tears he didn't even notice. Without stopping to question it, Carlos threw his arms around Reggie's shoulders and held tight. "Do you have to go?"

The fragility of Carlos' croaked question set alight a small but agonizing flame in Reggie's chest. "I have to," he murmured, holding Carlos gently. "Alex and Luke are probably waiting for me."

"I don't want you to go."

"I know."

Reggie's entire body, save for the burning yet soothing sparks in his chest, felt numb. He had to glance over Carlos' shoulder to make sure he still had his arms. He moved to pull back so he could leave -- Carlos didn't have to see whatever crossing over looked like -- but Carlos wouldn't let go.

Reggie figured he would've been able to break out of Carlos' hold on a normal day. But today wasn't normal, was it?

"I have to go," Reggie said.

Carlos pretended he didn't hear it. "You're the best brother in the world."

Finally, Carlos let Reggie move back, but Reggie didn't stand or poof out. Instead, he gave Carlos a smile and wiped Carlos' wet cheeks. "Nah. You are. You're gonna look after Julie for us, aren't you?"

Carlos nodded. He refused to acknowledge the fact that he could see through Reggie. He was just tired and needed to go to bed, right?

"Julie belongs with the stars," Reggie said. "Take her to the moon for me, okay?"

"I'll try," Carlos told the empty kitchen. "I promise."

And then he wrapped his arms around himself and sat down on the floor as his small shoulders shook silently.

[fandom-imagines-stories]

Face Me

Gif credit: @haloforsam​

Dean Winchester x Reader

Words: 3673

Summary: The Winchester brothers are recruited by a former girlfriend of Dean’s to help with a haunting problem. As the case intensifies, Sam and Dean uncover the ghost’s origins and the reader’s dark secret. 

Notes: Welcome to the Winchester October Take Over! As always, as this month progresses, let me know what you think and buckle up for plenty of Winchester angst. This was totally inspired by Becky Barnes from the Starkids musical Black Friday. This is very very intense, but I hope you guys like it.

Special shout out to my amazing beta reader Sarah, @suckmysupernatural​ . I love her so much and honestly, she’s helped me so much in getting these imagines out for you and she has some absolutely killer writing of her own!

Warnings: Extreme domestic abuse, violence, death (like I said, it’s intense so please please read only if you are comfortable)

Want more Supernatural? Find it HERE

-

It wasn’t a call you ever thought you’d have to make, but as police swarmed around you, you lifted the phone to your ear. You thought you had calmed down enough to speak, but as soon as you heard the voice on the other end, you felt the whole situation crash into you again, along with so many feelings you’d kept locked away in your heart. 

“D-Dean?” You sniffed, feeling your stomach drop as they brought the body out the front door, sealed up in a bag. “Oh god.”

“Who is this?” Dean’s voice was gruff and tired. You must have woken him up. 

“I’m sorry. You probably don’t remember.” You started to regret calling. After all this time, you couldn’t expect him to come racing to save you. Dean was quiet for a moment.

“Y/N?” Sam stirred awake and gave his brother an inquiring look. “Y/N, is that you?”

“Dean, I-” You tried to catch your breath. “I need your help.” 

“What happened? Are you okay?”

“Something… something killed Danny.” Or someone. 

“Are you still in that same sleep town in Nebraska?” That’s all he needed to know. No details, no suspicious activity. You were in trouble. That was enough for him. 

“You know me. I never go anywhere.” You winced, thinking about the last time you saw Dean Winchester. There was a loud shuffle as Dean started to pack his things, motioning for Sam to do the same.

“We’ll be there by morning.” You uttered a tearful thanks and hung up. 

“What was that about?” Sam asked, climbing out of bed and grabbing his duffle bag. 

“You remember when we were in Nebraska for a few weeks trying to find that coven of witches?”

“The ones that were using high school kids in their ritual? Yeah.” Sam recalled a fiery English teacher that Dean had dated for most of their time there. 

“Y/N’s brother is dead.” Dean said somberly. 

“The one that bought us drinks after we saved some of the kids?” Dean nodded. “Damn.” He was a good guy. “She thinks it’s our kind of thing?”

“I don’t know. Y/N’s one tough broad, Sammy, and she-” The sound of your trembling voice echoed in his head. “She sounded scared.” By the look in his eyes, Sam knew how important this was to him. 

“Then what are we waiting for?” He zipped up his duffle bag and threw it over his shoulder. “Let’s get to Nebraska.” 

-

You spent most of the night answering police questions and carefully watching the windows. He was in there somewhere. Waiting for you. Once the ambulance and the police were gone, you didn’t dare go back inside. Instead, you curled up on the porch swing and broke down. This was your fault. Danny was gone and that cruel smile was burned into your brain. He was coming for you. 

You must have fallen asleep because the bright morning sun and the low rumbling of an engine pulled you out of your nightmare. You’d never been so happy to see that beautiful car. 

Sam got out of the passenger side and you slowly walked towards him. You had to restrain yourself from just crashing into him to be safely wrapped in his arms. 

“Your hair’s different.” You noted with a small smile. He pulled you into a hug. 

“I’m sorry about Danny.” He whispered, pulling back to give you a sympathetic smile. Behind him, his brother waited anxiously, straightening the sleeves of his jacket. He hadn’t changed at all. 

“Dean…” You gasped, memories flashing through your head faster than you could register them. The first touch. The feeling of his flannel wrapped around your shoulders. Your last kiss. 

“Hey.” He greeted. Neither of you moved. You just looked at each other, both wanting to say something but not having a single clue as to what. 

Suddenly, it hit you. What might have been. How different everything would be. Danny would still be alive. When your eyes started to fill with tears, Dean enveloped you in his arms without a second of hesitation. Feelings he had tried to forget came rushing back, but he tried his best to ignore them. That’s not what you need right now. So he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” He wished more than anything that you had reunited under different circumstances. He knew how much your brother meant to you. He ran his hands down your arms. You felt like ice. “Jesus, Y/N, you’re freezing. What, did you sleep out here or something?” He quickly shed his jacket and draped it over you. 

“Why don’t we head inside?’ Sam suggested. “Talk about what happened.”

“No.” You responded a little too quickly, earning a strange look from both Winchesters. “Why don’t we talk down at the diner? Breakfast’s on me.” They exchanged a skeptical look, but agreed nonetheless.

People were already whispering when you walked in. Word traveled fast. As uncomfortable as the stares made you, anywhere was better than home. 

“Hey Josie, can I get a few cups of coffee?” You asked the only waitress who wasn’t too busy gossiping about you. She gave you her usual smile. 

“You got it, sweetie.” At least you still had one friend. The three of you picked a booth, Dean sitting on the other side and Sam sliding in beside you. He put a hand on your arm. 

“Can you tell us what happened?” You tried to ignore Dean’s worried gaze and took a deep breath. 

“I’ve been living with Danny for a little over a year now.” Just tell them. Just tell them. “After Isaiah left, I needed a place to stay.”

“Isaiah?” Dean stiffened. You couldn’t look at him. 

“My husband.” Both Winchesters froze. 

“Oh.” Was all Dean said. You set down your coffee mug a little too fast and the hot liquid splashed onto the counter. 

“Anyway, it doesn’t matter.” You tried to clean up the mess with your napkin, your voice sounding more flustered than you intended. After all this time of keeping the secret, why was it so hard to lie to them? “He’s gone now.” Sam was the first to speak. 

“I’m sorry.” His voice was so sincere, you felt yourself choke on your words, the emotion becoming too much. 

“What matters now is destroying what killed Danny.” 

“Do you have any idea what it was?” Sam asked. Dean seemed very interested in the inside of his mug. You wanted to tell him the truth, but the words caught in your throat. “Y/N?”

“I don’t know. One minute he was fine and the next his head was cracked open.” You closed your eyes, remembering that awful scene. You felt a hand rest on top of yours. Dean had reached across the table, his warm touch giving you enough courage to keep going. “The police can’t figure out how anyone else got in the garage, what the murder weapon was, or anything that could give me an answer. So I called you.” Sam and Dean exchanged a look. 

“We’ll do what we can.” Sam promised you and Dean nodded. 

“And we’ll fry this son of a bitch.” 

-

Without a good enough excuse not to go back, you took Sam and Dean to the house. The police had cleaned the scene so you were able to get in. Dean stopped by the garage and laughed softly to himself. 

“Still working on the bike.” He mused. You smiled slightly. 

“He finished restoring it last year.” That motorcycle was Danny’s prize possession. A 1984 Disc Glide Harley Davidson. It was one hell of a bike. He had been washing it when he died. 

“So… married.” Dean blew out a long breath. You looked away. 

“After you left, Isaiah was… the normal I thought I needed.” You almost laughed. How wrong you were. “And then after a couple months he was… different. I guess I was too.” You thought of every red flag that you had missed, every great big warning sign you chose to ignore. 

“Ah,” Dean nodded. “Normal.” You looked at him, shaking your head. 

“I was wrong.” He read the glint in your eye that you had tried to hide. Your ex scared you. 

“What went down between you?” His question wasn’t out of plain curiosity. He knew there was something you weren’t telling him. 

“He started vanishing into the beds of barmaids and the occasional tennis coach until he didn’t come back.” You shrugged, hoping that he would buy the lie. He didn’t, but he didn’t ask you anything else. 

“Hey guys, I think I found something!” Sam shouted from the living room. He was holding up a picture of you and Danny from a couple years ago. It looked fine. “Check this out.” Sam turned the farm around, revealing the words scratched into the back of the frame. Your heart stopped. Face me.

“Face me?” Dean read. “What the hell does that mean?” He and his brother both turned to you. 

“Does this mean anything to you, Y/N?” Sam asked. All you could hear was Isaiah’s voice. 

“Face me you stupid bitch!” You instinctively pulled Dean’s jacket tighter around you even though you knew they couldn’t see what you had hidden under your shirt. 

“Y/N?” Sam repeated. Both brothers were staring at you waiting for an answer. 

“You know Danny. He used to get in bar fights all the time. Maybe one of them died and wanted to get revenge?” You wouldn’t have believed it either . Dean ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. 

“Look, we can’t help you if there’s something you aren’t telling us.” He snapped. “What the hell is going on?”

“My brother is dead, Dean!” You shouted. And it was all your fault. The two fell totally silent and you tried not to cry again. “Sorry. I’m just… tired.”

“Maybe you should just take it easy for the rest of the day. We’ll go back into the history of the house and see if there were any violent deaths.” Sam suggested sweetly. 

“Don’t leave me here.” You pleaded, grabbing Dean’s hand. “Please don't leave me alone.” 

“Hey, it’s okay. I won’t.” Dean assured you. What the hell was going on. He briefly turned to his brother. “Sammy, why don’t you head to the library and I’ll take Y/N to the motel?” 

“I’ll call you if I find anything.” Sam gave you one last concerned look before heading out. Dean gave your hand a reassuring squeeze. 

“Let’s get you out of here.”

-

The motel room was relatively nice compared to the other places they had stayed. You sat on Dean’s bed and took off his jacket. 

“Here. You probably want this back.” You held it out, but he shook his head. 

“You can keep it until we get this son of a bitch.” He pulled up a chair across from you and you couldn’t help but check him out. Those muscles under his shirt, his perfectly messy hair, his unreal green eyes. He really hadn’t changed at all. 

“Do you ever think about it?” You blurted suddenly. 

“Hmm?”

“About how we said goodbye?” Dean looked at the floor. 

“Sometimes.”

You had thought about it nearly every damn day for the past three years. After facing the witches, it was time for Dean and Sam to move on to the next hunt. Dean had fallen in love with you, which was not something he usually allowed himself to do. You knew that you loved him and it scared you. The man hunted monsters, for god's sake. So when Dean asked you to come with him… you said no. 

“Look, Y/N, I don’t hold anything against you.” Dean started, “I mean, we’d only been together a couple of weeks and you were still teaching and, you know, I had just killed a bunch of witches pretending to be lunch ladies. 

“Dean.” You crossed to him. “Not leaving with you… It’s the biggest regret of my life.” Dean stood, eyes intense. YOu weren’t sure who kissed who first, but just like that, the years melted away. You quickly threw his jacket over the chair and Dean lifted your legs up around his waist as he backed you towards the bed. His jacket joined his jacket. 

Dean’s hands slipped under your shirt, just grazing one of the lower scars on your back. You panicked and pushed away from him. 

“Wait.” You gasped, catching your breath. 

“What? What’s wrong?”

“I can’t.” Too many questions that you didn’t know how to answer. “I’m sorry, Dean. I can’t-” Seeing how upset you were, Dean tried to relax, putting his hands on your shoulders. 

“It’s okay. You’re tired. Today has been pretty crazy. How about you rest?” He was being so sweet, which just made you feel worse for keeping things from him. 

“Will you lay down with me?” It seemed like such a juvenile question after literally tearing his shirt off. Dean just smiled. 

“Yeah, of course.” You both got under the blankets, keeping apart at first. You moved closer and he wrapped his arms around you, your back pressed against his chest. “Hey Y/N.”

“Yeah?”

“Sam and I are gonna keep you safe, okay?” His breath was warm against the back of your neck. “You can trust us.”

Dean knew that you were hiding something. Something that absolutely terrified you. He felt the marks on your back before you pulled away. For now, he would let you sleep. Hell, he could use a few hours himself. But sooner or later, he would find out the truth. He just hoped that it didn’t destroy you first. 

-

You slept without nightmares. It was so unfamiliar after so many sleepless nights that even as the afternoon light streamed through the windows, you slept more peacefully than you had in years. It wasn’t until you felt a rush of cold and turned around to cuddle closer to Dean. Your eyes fluttered open and you screamed. The spirit stood over Dean menacingly with a stone raised over his head. Even though half of his face was bashed in, you could see Isaiah’s furious scowl. 

“Dean!” You cried. Dean woke up and looked over his shoulder as Isaiah brought his hand down. Dean rolled out of the way, both of you tumbling off of the bed. 

“You cheating whore!” The apparition shrieked. Dean pushed you behind him and you screwed your eyes shut. “Look at me when I’m speaking to you, Y/N! Face me!” He reappeared, standing over both of you and raising the jagged rock over you. 

“Get down!” Sam burst through the motel door and fired two salt rounds into the ghost. Isaiah vanished. Sam hurried to his brother’s side. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Dean stood, eyes burning into you, demanding answers. “What the hell just happened?”

“I’m sorry.” You let terrified tears stream down your cheeks. “I should have told you. I should have told you.” Sam helped you to your feet, trying to calm you down. 

“Y/N, who was that?” He asked gently. There was now way to hide anymore, but you just stood there. Dean’s anger disappeared, connecting the spirit’s words and your fear. He cradled your face in his hands. 

“Sweetheart, we can’t help you unless you tell us what happened.” He tucked your hair behind your ear. You tried to pull yourself together. 

“It was Isaiah.” You sat on the bed and pulled your knees up to your chest. 

“Your husband?” Sam asked. You gave them a weak nod. 

“He didn’t leave me. I tried to leave him. He hurt me. He kept hurting me.” Every cut and every bruise stung now as if they were fresh. Dean gripped the back of the chair. “I told him I wasn’t going to let him hurt me anymore. He got so mad…” You gulped and turned around. You slowly lifted up the back of your shirt. Your back was a jagged puzzle of scars, some small and some stretching across your skin. 

“Oh my God.” Sam gasped. You kept your back to them, unable to look them in the eye. 

“He pushed me out of a glass door.” You pulled your shirt back down and wrapped your arms around yourself. “Our yard opened out to the river where there were some trees. So I just ran.” 

Dean closed his eyes, the entire scene playing out in front of him. The blood soaking the back of your shirt. Your crying pleas for help. It haunted him. He somehow felt like it was his fault. Like he should have been there to protect you. 

“I ran and I ran, but everything stung and it was hard to see straight with the pain. He caught me and shoved me to the ground. I was screaming, but nobody came. He wrapped his hands around my throat.” You sank further into your nightmare. “I grabbed a rock and hit him over the head. I just kept hitting him and hitting him and hitting him.” Your body shook as you cried. Nobody said a word for a long while. You were grateful. 

“Y/N,” Sam sat down beside you. “You didn’t have a choice.” 

“I shouldn’t have fought him, Sam.” You exclaimed. “If I hadn’t fought thim, none of this would have happened. Danny would still be alive.” Dean pushed the chair aside and crouched down in front of you, making you face him. 

“None of this is your fault.” He said sternly. “Not what he did to you when he was alive and not what he’s doing now. Do you hear me? It’s not your fault.” He pulled you to him and let you cry into his chest, gently stroking your hair to sooth you. He looked at Sam intensely. “We’re burning this son of a bitch tonight.” 

-

In order to find the body, you had to go back to the river. As you lead Sam and Dean through the grove of trees, Sam asked more questions. 

“It’s been a little over a year since everything happened, right?” You nodded. “Why do you think he’s back now?” You shrugged. You had been trying to figure that out too. You suddenly remembered a conversation you had had with your brother. 

“It’s because I’m leaving.” Of course. If you were gone, Isaiah wouldn’t be able to exact his revenge. He may have been tied to you, but he was also still tied to his body. Dean joined the conversation. 

“Leaving?”

“Yeah. I need to get out of this place. Get away from everything that happened here.” You sighed. “I guess Isaiah had other plans.” 

“Where will you go now?” Dean glanced over at you with a flicker of hope in his eyes. Before you could respond, you reached the North Platte and the tree you buried the body under. 

“This is it.” You forced yourself to stay calm as the memories flooded your head. Dean gave you a reassuring nod. “No one ever came looking for him.” It was kind of sad. Everyone in town just assumed that he left you and he didn’t have any family to worry about him. “I couldn’t bury him very deep with my back cut up like that, but I couldn’t bring myself to just throw him in the river. Monster or not, he was till my husband.”

It was late evening now so you didn’t have to worry about anyone stumbling upon the scene. The boys started digging, that lump in your throat getting bigger and bigger with every inch. Once the body was fully uncovered, you made yourself look at him. Sam and Dean stood on either side of you. 

“Alright Isaiah,” Dean started, lighting a match. “You’re not gonna hurt her anymore.” 

Both Sam and Dean were flung backwards and you felt icy cold hands wrap around your neck. 

“I’m not going anywhere.” Isaiah hissed in your ear. He flung you into the tree, hitting your back hard. 

“Over here you freak!” Dean fired a salt round, but missed. Isaiah knocked him to the ground, slamming a rock against his temple. Sam rushed to help his brother and Isaiah simply raised his hand, throwing the younger Winchseter into the river. 

“Stop!” You tried to scream, but it just came out as a wheezing gasp. 

“We’re going to be just fine, Y/N.” Isaiah sneered. “Just as soon as you face me and learn your lesson.” He hit Dean again, this time knocking him out. You reached into your pocket. 

“Face this you son of a bitch.” 

You threw your lighter onto the body and watched it go up in flames. Isaiah raised the stone one last time before burning away. You ran over to Dean, your back aching with every movement.

“Please please please.” You begged, holding his head in your hands, his blood oozing from his temple and onto your palm. 

“Y/N!” Sam called out, crawling out of the water. “Dean!” 

“Come on Dean.” You cried. “If you wake up, I’ll say yes this time.” You leaned down, pressing a desperate kiss to his lips. 

“That’s gotta be my favorite way to wake up.” He teased, his green eyes slowly opening. 

“Shut up.” You shook your head and laughed, pulling him into your arms. 

-

Sam packed the last bag into the trunk and gave you a small smile before getting in the passenger seat. Dean had his arms around you, his hands soothingly running up and down your back. 

“I guess this is goodbye.” He sighed dramatically. You rolled your eyes. 

“I’m going to be right behind you.”

“I don’t know if I can wait until we get to the motel.” He gave you a cheeky grin and pulled you into a passionate kiss. He went to the car and you revved Danny’s Harley to life. Dean pulled the impala out of the driveway, you trailing on the motorcycle. You followed that beautiful black car down the open road, ready to face anything.

-

General Tag: @rae-gar-targaryen; @takemepedropascal; @childhood-imagination;  @mylovegoesto;

[yconic]

"Divorce is a special kind of pain. It's like death without a body, " is what they say when two halves of a whole heart separate.

Tony never understood when he was younger, never extended the notion of two people who gifted each other to eternity in union splitting up beyond 'Just not talking for a bit.'

He looked at it from a small perspective belonging to a small person, as if the people in question were just two good friends who couldn't decide on what game to play, hurt each other, and needed space.

His parents had done it more times than he cared to count. The frigid silences and artificial prompt politeness between the socialite power couple Howard and Maria Stark could last for two days, or two months, depending on how deep the issue picked out that time ran.

Tony sat straight as he watched the clock tick away, dutifully counting the hours that would bring Maria closer to home from whichever elicit travel affair she filled her time with while Howard closes himself into his workshop, stewing in anger and bitterness that leak out from the door he's not permitted to trespass.

He learns to measure the gravity of their squabbles, - If it's a small argument, Maria picks Germany, France, or Spain. She sends a letter stating the duration of her stay. She sends Tony well wishes, with a touch of formality for a mother, and her name is elegantly plastered on the bottom in cursive.

When Howard fucks up, she picked China, Britain, or Italy, and she disappeared from the earth until she emerged at her like. Howard is Howard, - the relationship between him and his son was too cold for Tony to tell how his father was like without the disdain gleaming in his eyes, but the liquor cabinet always needed at least a daily refill after a spectacular drama.

He looks back at those moments and realizes, with a shade of pity coated in something more sour, mellow but active, that divorce was never an option for them, the cycle of co-dependency and maintaining legacy had to be kept no matter how demanding that task was.

He can't bring himself to be angry when he feels so bad for them. All that money, and they couldn't buy a second of peace.

It doesn't take long for him to realize his parents don't love each other.

Tony was young, but he was never a child. He was naive, gullible, innocent, - but he was awake. While he didn't clearly understand what love was, he looked at the unhappy frowns on the miserable faces of the pair and thought: 'If that's how love looks like I want no part in it.'

He doesn't love people for more than one night, - A full week if their company was good enough to distract him from the rich golden color of his whiskey that gradually tastes bitter, and more bitter every time. It's not love, he knows, - He keeps that special for his family. But the kind of feeling he has with strangers, with nobody's with a name, resembles what he knows of love too much for him to change meaning.

He won't know how "love" feels like. He refuses to be the caged bird his mother was, to take form in the monster Howard let himself become.

Then, life gives him Steve.

He nests into Tony's life like a storm with skin, hair kissed by sunshine and eyes filled with an ocean that the brunette longs to sink into. He has a boyish charm to him, an old soul that swoops Tony off his feet. It makes him want to slow down, even if he belongs to the future, to activity, to progress. He wants to sit and listen to the stories Steve has, told in a Brooklyn swird that gives character to every word.

Steve looks at him like Rhodey told him all people should look at him. 'Like they can't see the status, or the money, or the power. Like they just see Tony, and nothing more. Because Tony will always be enough. ' Steve looks at him like he hangs the moon for him.

Tony never stood a chance. He looked at Steve, and thinks: "Oh, shit. He's It for me."

He just knows that this one, this Captain, decorated to the teeth, hiding in awkwardness at this petty mingling, social climbing Gala, lowering himself at the bar because he didn't know anybody, was made for him. And if Steve clings to Tony the whole night, he agrees with the parallel drawing out on his part.

He doesn't leave Tony's side, arm snug and comfortable around his middle like they've known each other for longer than time itself, and Tony loves it more than he has the courage to say.

Steve looks at him when the epilogue of the night strikes, too soon for either of their likings. He's tall, broad-shouldered, strong but has the softest eyes in the world. It hurts Tony to arch his neck to stare, but he doesn't want to miss a thing. "I've... I didn't laugh like that since I was in tour. You made my night, Tony."

"It's nothing, -" Because it really is. Considering the sins to his name, the least he can do to atone some mistakes is make as much people as happy as he can. And Happy is a great look on Steve.

He does learn one thing: When Steve says something, it stays how Steve says it. "No, its everything, Tony. I didn't smile once since coming home, " he croaks, like the confession pains him, and Tony aches alongside him. "Everyone is worried about me, saying that, that I seem upset, or sad, or just, never happy anymore, but how else am I supposed to feel?"

"You can't let others tell you how you feel, " Tony soothes, without thinking, a hand softly brushing against Steve's cheek. A frisson zaps through him at the feeling of the soldier's stubble spiking his skin. Steve leans into his touch like it's the most normal thing in the world. Tony's heart grows. "It's not even in your control, so why should it be in theirs? " He understands how Steve feels. More than the world would care to listen.

"Exactly. So, if it's not too much trouble, " his shyness compliments Tony's smitten. "Would you mind making me smile again?"

Tony is, utterly, indubitably, irrevocably, without a shade of doubt, fucked.

He smiles anyway. "You know, soldier, I think I could pull some strings."

---

Their love is like rain in June. It's mellow and distractingly peaceful, makes their worry and everything that ever went wrong scarce away. They can breathe around each other even when they feel like drowning. For once, Tony feels like it'll be okay.

But Life decides to do what it always does when Tony finds something good. It takes, and it takes, until there's nothing.

Steve tells him about Bucky. About the fallen brother that vanished in the mission that stole everything for Steve. "Only one soldier fell off that train, but two died that day, " God, Tony is so worried when Steve talks like that. "It should've been me. I wanted it to be me."

Tony listens and he pictures Rhodey falling. Steve loved Bucky in ways he couldn't even hope to understand.

It turns out, Death is not something so permanent after all.

It's a lovely night for them when Steve gets that call. He's wrapped around Tony and holds him in his arms as if he'd rather go to war again than let him go and Tony's heart never beat so loud for anyone. He would have never let Steve answer if he knew that phone call was the beginning of their end.

Bucky's alive again, is reborn from snow and war and ashes. Broken, but alive. Held captive by terrorists and is unmade, undid, but still alive. Everything around Steve is lost after that.

Tong gives him space and resources, help, support, he gives everything to Steve like on their wedding day. He gives him his care and gentle hands and soft words and love with a heartbeat. And Steve is just... Too preoccupied looking at Bucky to notice. Tony feels like a selfish bastard for wanting his soldier to look at HIM instead of coddling his friend at every moment notice.

He wants Steve to stop suffocating Bucky when he already looks like he's just inhaling instead of breathing.

He wants his husband back.

That's why he deserves what's coming to him. That's his punishment.

They drift apart slowly, as most terrible pains start.

Steve starts spending more and more time around the mental help facility Bucky asked to be enlisted into after his hasty return that had everyone clutching at their pearls. He wants to do it alone, Tony figures easily, starves for a journey he wants to walk himself, for the kind of autonomy only a man who lost it for too long craves.

His bitterness aside, Tony marvels at how similar they are. Maybe In another life, he and Barnes would've made a handsome pair of kindred souls.

Steve doesn't agree. He looks sickened, struck even, at Tony for having the Gall to suggest maybe Barnes would be more responsive if he talked with someone who had mirroring experiences. "God, Tony, you don't... You're not a soldier. You're just a man. You've been through pain, sure, but not like Bucky. No one went through what he did. I'm honestly speechless you ever thought you could compare."

Steve says that, it's why it hurts so bad. The man who swore he'd walk back into the hellfire of war just to find the people who hurt Tony and tear them apart.

The man who couldn't be moved by anything. No nightmare, no night terror, no panic attack, no argument. Nothing convinced Steve to leave. He stayed through it all.

The man who cried relentlessly when Rhodey walked Tony down the alter because 'He couldn't believe how lucky he was to marry someone so beautiful.'

The man who hasn't written Tony a love letter every morning like he used to do in over a year.

The man who spent more time sleeping in hospital rooms than in their bed.

The man who used to not go even one day without saying "I love you". Tony can't even remember the last time this sentence was spoken between them unless he said it first.

The man who agreed to couple therapy, then acted like it rained the next day.

Tony would will himself to shove this under the rug. To put a blind eye to it, to make it work, to ignore Rhodey's disapproval and Pepper's warm worry, to push away the pain blossoming in his chest, threatening to overspill.

But this man adopted a child with him.

---

"That one" Steve points to a small boy, thin but sturdy-looking even in the hand me downs from the orphanage, short limbs supporting a mess of brown hair that looks impossibly soft. His eyes are big and kind. Tony wants to take him home and feed him. "That one's ours."

His name is Peter, and he got into a fight with older kids when they wanted to stomp on ladybugs. He pushes back, but not unkindly. He's no bully. Instead, he takes the time to teach them why disrespecting and hurting nature is wrong, then takes their hands into his own, playing with the tiny creatures for hours.

Tony falls in love immediately. "Let's bring him home, Cap."

---

He can't do it. Tony can't look into Peter's adoring eyes, wide and brown that feel more like a mirror than anything, and see the fear he had for Howard, or the sadness for Maria. Tony can't handle looking at the love of his life and see another him.

Steve is Peter's role model. His knight in shining armor, his protector, everywhere he goes he sings praise to anyone who cares to listen. About his fearless father, his heroic antics that seem so tall for him. "My daddy's a superhero!" Tony doesn't have the heart to take that away.

And Tony loves Steve too much to see him become Howard.

So when Steve misses their son's 5th birthday party because he had more pressing business in D.C, Tony realizes bitterly, there's no saving this. People labeled him as a mechanic, a futurist, but he feels unworthy of both when he couldn't fix or foresee this.

There's no coming back from this.

Natasha doesn't voice it, but she doesn't need to. She tucks her phone away after a third failed attempt to coax, threaten, and guilt Steve into joining them, with muted movements, and Tony can tell she agrees.

Tony's grin is too wide when he looks down at Peter when he drags him off to paint his face, unaware of his father's turmoil. He laughs. He smiles. He celebrates. He has a nice day with his family.

He pulls Pepper aside and asks her to prepare his lawyers in the same breath.

This is why Tony knew love wasn't made for him.

---

Tony's always been good at hurting himself. The more pain he inflicts on himself, the less it'll hurt when someone else does it. So he unpacks the stash of letters he kept locked away in a seif, because they're prized to him, more than any sleek car or company, and reads them before he burns the bridge.

They feel like warm kisses and goodbyes.

'Left for a grocery jog, ran out of coffee. It's supposed to be cold, so don't you even think about leaving the house without a jacket! I'll know. Take care of yourself, even when I'm not there. '

' I love waking up next to you every morning. I love how you hide from the sun in my chest. I love how grumpy you are when Pepper calls for updates and all you do is cuddle me and whine. I love your messy bed hair and how you fall asleep in the shower.

'I never cared for jewelry before but seeing my ring around your finger never gets old. I still can't believe you said yes, but I'm glad you did. You deserve more, but you settled for someone like me. I can't believe it when you say no one would want you forever, I hate that someone made you think like that, that they let you go, but their biggest mistake is my biggest win. Jokes on them.'

'I can't imagine my life without you. Its all radio silence and broken static. Like an artist with a blank canvas and grey paint. You're the best damn thing that ever happened to me, and the fact that I have you means there really is someone up there looking our for me. I'm never letting you go. I love you, I love you, I love you, '

Tony stains the paper with tears as he listens to the song of heartbreak in his chest.

---

"Nat, " Tony pleads, choosing not to look at the tremor in his hands as he neats the papers he wants to see burn. "There's no need for that, come on. You know I love you, but I'm a big boy. I don't need you to hold my hand for this."

Natasha shrugs. "Indulge me."

"He wouldn't do anything to me."

"I thought there were lots of things he wouldn't do. Like stop loving you, for one, " she doesn't mean to be a jab, but Tony strokes his right arm and lets the hurt wash off. He sometimes forgets how blunt and terrifying Pepper's wife is capable of being. "Being paranoid is worth being safe."

They find Steve in the kitchen, sitting stiff and unfamiliar as if he didn't design the place himself. Tony swallows down the pressure in his throat and forces his eyes to stay dry. He wants to rest his hands on Steve's shoulders and pepper the lines of laughter on his flushed face with kisses.

But they're behind that now.

Steve raises his eyes to look at him. He's tired, run-down, missing the spark Tony marked as one of his favorite traits of the blonde. The life wasted from them, telling Tony that he's surviving, but not living.

Tony looks at him back and his eyes say, 'Me too.'

Steve's mouth twists into an imitation of a smile, tries his luck at mimicking something of the reassurance and ease variety, to hide his emotions with a mask of cracked peace Tony undressed a million times, just as Steve undressed his. He's always been good at reading the man. Or, was.

Steve's eyes fall on the documents Tony's holding with his naked hands, no ring in sight, and Tony watches something die in him.

The room drowns in silence for a while.

Natasha stands as a loyal shadow at his side, silent but sharp, hands folded in front of her crotch like a guard dog waiting to pounce. There's a forced calm into her breathing that puts him even more on edge.

Papers brush smoothly above the marble surface, ear piercing to him. Red hot blazing into white noise. It's the most terrible sound he's ever heard. He prefers his breathless, agonized screams in Afghanistan to this.

Steve recoils away, standing up suddenly and shakily, as if the documents are bombs about to kill him anytime now.

He turns his head, refusing to look at them. Refuses to accept they're real.

"Throw those away, Tony, " he says, voice edged with the kind of suffering that would bring Tony to his knees on other circumstances."Get them the hell away from me and never bring them up again, you hear me? I'm serious.''

Carefully, Natasha chimes in, tone mild and neutral. " Steve. Tony would like to speak with you about something, alright? Let's sit down, and talk like grown-ups, -"

"Where's your ring!?" Steve shouts, tiptoeing at the border of desperate and hysteric. Tony wants back into the cave, wants the water to take him away from all of this. It's hard to kill something that's already dead. "What did you do with it!? Why aren't you wearing it!? You PROMISED me, you promised you'd never take it off you JERK, you lying -"

"And you promised to love me until the day we die, but by the looks of it we both could use a lesson in honesty, " Tony cuts icily, colder than colder. His words are resigned, hollow, at the brim of mechanical. He thinks all the people who say Starks are more machine than men had a point. "I'm the fuck up in this relationship. What's your excuse?"

He thought he'd feel vindication watching Steve taste a fraction of his sorrow, that his destroyed look would make something in Tony retaliate. It does nothing. Tony loves him stronger, fiercer, and there's no win here for anyone.

His mouth tastes like ashes.

He just wants to stop, to sink in his bed and swim in ratty hoodies drenched in cheap but sweet cologne, smudged with paint of all shades, and feel Steve's arms shield him from the world.

He wonders if it'll keep Steve up at night, how it never occurred to him that the danger he wanted to defend Tony from might have his face.

"I'll do better. Tony please," Steve begs him, and Tony wonders if the situation is so low a man with his nature would resort to that. He's shaken by big hands engulfing his own for exactly a moment before Natasha intervenes, pushing the blonde away with a hint of regret. Steve recovers, looks right through her at Tony who wants to wipe his tears away. "I'll do better, I'll- I'll spend less time with Bucky if you want, -"

"Bucky isn't the problem. It's not about HIM, it was never about him, this is US, Steve. We, our marriage, our family, its been here longer than Bucky. I never wanted you to - to erase him from your life, I just wanted my husband. Peter wanted his daddy. Bucky could've been apart of that, but you just, you just pushed us aside,-"

"I won't do that anymore. I, - Do you want me to be at home more often? I can, sweetheart, I can do that no problem. I can be at home, I can make time for dates and-and for activities, I can take Peter to the park and play ball, - Do you remember that? How we used to play until he fell asleep? I don't mind, its no problem, -"

Something in Tony snaps.

"WE'RE NOT YOUR FUCKING CHORES," His voice is more roar than man, ragged, tight, pushed to the last limit. The garden of silent pain, fury, rage, and fear he's been harboring finally blossomed into something that seemed to shake the world. His body shudders. "We're not some,- some pestering tasks that you have to save your precious time to complete! Some fucking pets other people have to force you to care of, or some dirty laundry you decide to wear whenever you feel like washing! We're your damn FAMILY,- " A sob hitches his anger, and by the broken look on Steve's face, it's worse than any rage.

He narrows his eyes in disbelief, as if Steve was some stranger and not someone he gave years of his life to. A laugh is pushed out of his chest, choked, long, and terrible. "I would've ended this sooner if, - God, if I knew how much of a burden we became for you."

"Tony, Tony don't say that, " Steve's face is blotched red, painted in punishing torment. "I love you and Peter more than anything in this life. You're mine, both of you, how can you think I don't love you? I, -"

"Just love Bucky more, " Tony finishes, note flat, accepting, rehearsed. His voice feels as hollow as his chest when Steve flinches. "I'm just... I'm so tired. Steve,I'm tired, and- I can't do it anymore. My son, my baby is not going to be a burden on anybody. I can put up with a lot of shit, but Peter is my limit. I can't and I won't put anyone above him. Not even you."

Horror shines bright and clear on the blue eyes Tony loves so much. He spots Steve's finger tremble at his sides, notices the hesitant movement of his Addams apple.

Natasha was wrong. It's a rare occurrence, but it happened.

Steve never stopped loving him.

It makes signing the papers so much harder.

---

Steve lost Bucky to ice, snow, and time. Tony loses Steve to fire, anger, and distance.

---

Pepper is surprised when she hears Steve ended up signing willingly.

She doesn't want to ruin the calm air that finally settled over the emotion packed atmosphere surrounding the living room, currently stashed with carton boxes filled with Steve's stuff, ready to be delivered tomorrow as Tony wanted, but it's a needed talk.

"What did you say to convince him?" She asks, not demanding an answer but clearly expecting one. "I'd just assume Nat had him in an arm lock until he agreed, but, in all honesty, Steve would probably lose an arm than do what people tell him to. Seriously, I've seen anarchists with more respect for authority than this guy."

Tony laughs, too loving and too fond for this predicament. "I said you'd drag his ass through every courtroom in America and drain him of everything he's worth?"

"Mmm. Try again. I mean, that's a Sunday for me, but he's already heard that talk before." Giggles are shared between the pair on the couch, snuggled under fuzzy blankets with wine glasses that clink slightly. Pepper's face relaxes into something sympathetic, earnest. "Was it something Peter related?"

"No, " he shakes his head. It never crossed his mind once, no matter how hurt he was. It felt too much like what his father would do. " Peter is his son, too. No matter what happens between us. There's no changing that. "

"No one would blame you if it came down to that, you know that, right?"

He hums. Pepper waits.

"I asked him to let me say goodbye to my husband instead of forcing me to stay with Howard."

A sharp intake of breath settles something cold beneath Tony's skin. He closes his eyes, and accepts the wine Pepper pours in his cup, neither commenting on how it spills over the rim.

---

Talking to Peter is the hardest part.

He doesn't understand why suddenly there's only two people there instead of three, why he isn't woken up by two pairs of arms tickling him and kissing his sleepy eyelids every morning, why Tony's laughter isn't echoing through the house as Steve spins and twists him around in the living room dance session they had at least once a week.

Why, apparently, Steve now has a permanent residence in DC and can only see him twice a week as their legal agreement states.

Why he has to live in two different places and split his playtime.

Why Tony bought a new apartment and they had to move away, stretching the distance between them and Steve.

"Is Papa comin' home today?" A hand squeezes Tony's heart painfully tight at the small question. He looks down at his son, smaller than usual and playing with his fingers at his feet. His frail shoulder raise, housing an anxious breath as he awaits an answer.

Tony takes his tiny hand in his own, leaning down to press kisses on the back of his son's palm, apology on his lips. "Yeah, baby. He has to come and pick up his stuff. Maybe you can play a little when he arrives! I'm sure he'll be happy to see you. "

Steve sends Sam to pick up his things and Tony feels guilt bite at him for hissing 'coward' in his mind.

Peter is excited to see his uncle Sam but the disappointment when he hears a truck coming instead of the deep rumble of a motorcycle engine doesn't wash off. He soldiers on, smiles for Sam because as little as he is, he's careful with people and their emotions. His goodness is organic. He takes after Steve like that.

Sam's always been frustratingly talented at deciphering his thoughts, even when his face is emotionless. It's one of the many reasons why Tony thinks him and Rhodey match so well. "He said he's really sorry he couldn't come, but... Okay, his excuse is just sad, because I doubt you'd believe he'd rather attend a Zoomba class than see you and Peter. Truth is, he's scared."

"Of facing me?"

"Of hurting you."

"Yeah, well, he's already got that job done on the to do list, " Tony huffs, petty and aware. He tosses Peter his baseball that lands in the backyard, gently nudging him away from the conversation. They watch the ball of energy squeal in delight as he runs to fetch it, tension momentarily on hold. "Sorry. You don't need my shit. Let's just load this and be done with it."

Sam huffs. "Man, I've been involved with your shit for a while. Appreciate the feeling but it's a bit late for that. Trust me, me and Rhodey have in length discussions about it. I'm neck-deep in white boy drama, but well, sacrifices of the job. Not much you can do."

He's playful, Tony knows this, in the corner of his brain that isn't raided by anxiety, yet fear claws at him, sharp and cruel and unexpected. Coldness spreads inside him like wildfire, almost matching the thoughts racing in his mind. Sam and Rhodey were talking? Were they arguing? Had Tony harmed Rhodey's relationship as if he didn't wreck his own enough?

"Talk?" Tony rasps, pushes the words out of his constricted throat that seems to close more and more, synchronizing with his lungs. Sam's wide, concerned eyes tells him the surface looked as bad as the inside."You... You and Rhodey, you guys- Bad talk? You, you fought about it?"

His mind torments him by showcasing Rhodey yelling in Sam's face and Sam yelling back, both standing their ground like two soldiers on a mission and defending their friends like avenging angels. Rhodey is more brother than friend, he'd take his side, like the devoted friend he always proved himself to be, but he watches with a cut breath as Rhodey locks himself in his room and weeps.

Rhodey sharing his fate is Tony's own horror movie.

"...ony! Tony, deep breaths, come on, " gentle hands guide him away from the void his own psyche trapped him into, speaking in a low voice that plucks him back up little by little. "Come on, in and out. Focus on my voice, that's good. Listen to me, Rhodey and I did not and will not fight about this. We're fine, Tony, promise! We agreed, no side pickers. This isn't war, and we won't get into some life or death fight for your and/or Steve's honor, " he tries for a little grin. ''I mean, I'm not supposed to tell you, but we don't like you guys that much."

Tony laughs, at once, a pathetically small sound, but he's grounded enough to laugh. He basks in the lack of sound around them, like the silence of an after battle, suffocating, but free.

The quiet hangs in the air as they load the truck, too, not oppressing, but welcomed, with a touch of comfort that burns just right. When the last box is secured and road-ready, him and Sam stay just a bit on the porch to stare at the house. Because that's what it is, isn't?

'Is papa comin' home?'

There is no home. Not if Steve's missing.

"Steve said you can keep those, if you want," that sentence made Tony hunch his shoulders, releasing that bitter aftertaste in his mouth again, blending with something sweet, and igniting the warmth that pierced as deep as his very marrow. "Nothing he loves or wants back is in those boxes."

Yes, Tony wants to scream. I want to keep the sketchbooks he has for me. I want to keep the photo albums. I want to keep the paint, the charcoal, the brushes. I want to keep the stuffed animals he won me at the fairs. I want to keep his clothes. I want to keep the dances in the living room. I want to keep his love, attention, care, worry, sadness, anger, grief. I want to keep my husband.

Instead, Tony reaches for his back pocket, and squeezes his ring. It burns in his palm, almost begging him to put it back in it's place, or on his finger, where it fitted like it always belonged. His being feels it, as if connected, and he decides to even the odds in the cowardice department.

Sam holds his breath as Tony hands him the ring, with hesitance, with no indication he wants to. "You sure about this?" It's a careful question, painfully gentle, far softer than Tony deserves.

No. Not by a long shot. "Yeah, " he mutters, almost lost in the air. "It's not mine anymore."

Sam curls his hand around the ring, pockets it, and Tony wrestles with the urge to ask for it back. His eyes are trained to the floor, on his shoes, the fine leather ones Steve bought for him on their anniversary, he realizes.

He watches droplets of water splash and dissolve into the concrete. It's raining, he figures, he should take Peter inside or he'll catch a cold. He looks up to watch the dark clouds, and the senine blue above mocks him.

"It's okay, " Rhodey picked a good one, Tony thinks, as Sam covers his crying form away from Peter's eyes. "It's okay, Tony. Just... Let it out. You earned this."

"I tried, " he sobs in Sam's neck, sobs his demise his failure, his bottled cocktail of emotions that waited to implode. "I tried, Sam, I tried so hard, I swear I did."

"We know you did, Tony. We all know."

---

Peter wants to meet Bucky one day.

"Papa used to talk about him all the time, " He says, oblivious to how vexed Tony is hearing that. He apprehends himself, reproaching that he should be over it already. "He sounds pretty cool! I want to see his Terminator arm!"

"It's a Tin Man or Robocop arm, at best, " He smirks at the pout Peter throws his way, smoothing it out with his thumb. "And he's in a hospital. You and I hate hospitals, remember?"

Peter whines and makes his eyes larger, pitifully glassy and sad, just the way to wrap Tony around his little finger. "Daddyyyy, pleeeease!" He hooks his fingers around his arm, hugging it close to his chest and his lower lip trembles.

He imagines Steve behind him, smothering a laugh in his shoulder, egging Peter on like two conspirational buddies. He melts, pushing the rush of yearning back, and knows it's a battle lost. Peter is too lovable, too determined, too bright eyed.

He's morbidly curious, in a way, to see what was so special about Bucky that it made Steve want to trade that.

---

Bucky and Peter hit it off in a heartbeat.

The facility hosting Bucky is uncomfortably pristine, from door corner to ceiling. Everything is tailored and arranged with ridiculous precision, clinical, professional, boring, and detached, as most medical spaces are. His workshop dances circles around it in the personality field, and he tells Bucky as such.

He laughs at him. "That's an interesting way to say you're a chronic untidy mess."

'Chronic untidy hot mess, " Tony corrects, hating how easily he falls into conversation with him. He tells himself it's merely a distraction from the stomach twisting smell of medicine, stingy and sharp smothering the air. "How offensive. I demand a trial by combat. Peter, make him pay in blood!"

Peter turns to Bucky, unblinking. "Your hair's greasy."

A theatrical gasps spreads in the room from the blue eyed brunette. Tony beams, kissing Peter's cheek. "That's my boy. I'm sure Bucky's bleeding a lot on the inside."

"Yeah. You know, where blood usually is, " Bucky snarks, heatless, propping Peter off from the spot on his leg and putting him on the ground . "Why don't you go ask nurse Joy to give you some magnets for the arm? Your father and I gotta talk adult business."

"Uncle Clint says adult business is just gossip for grown ups. " Peter retorts, smirk on his lips, half raising on the edges of his mouth. He got the smugness from him, that much Tony will admit. Bucky huffs a laugh that mirror Tony's own and waits for Peter to be out of the hearing range to say his next words.

"I owe you an apology."

Tony blinks, hastily, and speaks before he can even register what he's saying. "No, you don't. Drop it." It comes off razor sharp, yet Bucky must be used to worse, because he doesn't falter.

"I ruined your marriage. There's no forgiving that, but I DO regret it and you'll damn well listen to what I have to say."

"Look, I appreciate it. I do. I'm not... Mad at you. You're just in the crossfire of this clusterfuck. There's no forgiving because there's nothing to forgive, " he murmurs under his breath, words quiet, but sincere, he realizes. "My failure is my own to carry. "

"Stark, relationships need more than one person. Stevie ain't exactly blameless in this whole thing, - Far from it, trust me, I let him know. He got the scolding of the damn lifetime, because he threw away a damn good thing. He made a home for himself and then demolished it. You didn't hand him the sledgehammer, he picked it up on his own dumb self."

"You know, your philosophy lesson would impact me better with wizard lingo. Throw in a riddle or a prophecy and I might bite. " Receiving a blank stare to his quip, Tony sighed, eyes downcast.

"Look. I called it off, alright? I lit up the matches, I burned down the bridge, and I watched it turn to ash. But it was meant to happen, one way or another. We were just too different. Guys like me break the world apart. Men like Steve put it back together. He'll move forward. Like he always does."

Bucky's reply is instant. "No, no he won't, " it's said with such conviction, with such a finality, that it has Tony freezing. "He'll never move on. Not from this. I've never seen him like that for anybody, hell, never seen ANYONE like that. You and him? That's a forever kind of deal. You don't need a ring and name change for that to last. You don't have a choice."

Tony swallows, slowly, unsure. "So what? We just keep path crossing like fate has us tied together, in each other 's range but standing on parallel lines, never meant to cross? This isn't a fairytale, Barnes. It's real life. And even if it wasn't, that's still far from fair."

"It is real life. Which means it ain't fair, Stark. "

Tony takes Peter home, cuddles him closely as if he might disappear, and eyes the empty area around the right side of the bed with a lonely glint that burns in the darkness.

---

The first time Tony meets Steve after the divorce, it's for Natasha's birthday party.

Time jumps from slow to fast, alters between stagnation and overwhelming in the first 6 months that pass after the finalization of their parting. Some days are agonizingly slow. As if the world wants him to stomach every second, consume every minute, where Steve is not with him, isn't his anymore, and choke on the pain that tastes just as sharply as the first time.

And in some, time goes by in blink record, not keen on giving Tony the courtesy of healing, of moving on, of according him the patience or kindness in adapting his feelings to his pace, to accommodate to the arrangement it dragged him in.

Concern crawls inside him regardless of how many times he buries it, makes a tangly nest right in his chest, and makes no effort to move. He doesn't blame Steve for not wanting to meet him, to look at him, to give him the chance of staring into the bright, baby blue eyes that hold everything beautiful in the world.

Tony's seen the wonders of the world, all 8 them, and they all pale put next to Steve.

He feels seething, scalding guilt showering him for thinking that. Because Steve is not his to worry over, not his to call wonderful, not his to care for. Not anymore. He repeats that like a mantra against his eardrum when Natasha asks him if it's fine if she invites him to her party, too.

It's the perfect excuse to see how he's doing, but Tony elects to ignore that and remind Natasha grown-ass people don't ask other grown-ass people for permission on what to do. "Do I look like Pepper to you? No? Then why would I order you around?"

A discreet smile reaches Natasha's features, exhibiting confidence but betraying relief. She loves them both, Tony knows, and wants her friends first, not the fallen lovers. "Just wanted to know if I should hide the sharp knives or prepare some spare sheets."

His face heats ferociously, climbing all the way to the tips of his ears, and all the embarrassment in the world is worth listening to Natasha laugh. Something sharp-edged inside of him brittles at the prospect of seeing Steve, thought, and he holds his tongue from saying something of that nature won't happen.

In the company of his solitude and shame, Tony wonders later, is he afraid of seeing Steve again because he fears the blonde is not doing okay, or because he is?

Later on, he sees Steve stand in flash before him, chatting with some faceless figures, hair longer than last time and flattened slightly at the nape, sporting a beard that framed his gorgeous face perfectly. The impeccable balance between scruffy and well-groomed. Tony itched to run his fingers against it.

"It's the divorce beard, " Clint muses, elbow jolting Tony in the side to show the humor. "Give him a few more weeks, and you'll see him shopping from the Hobo shop. All wrinkled shirts and ketchup stained clothes or something. Men are useless without their wives.'' He winks in Tony's way, but Tony is too entranced by Steve to acknowledge it.

His fists are bruised, Tony notes with a wince as he gets drunk on Steve's form with a studious gaze, creamy skin battered and laced in a cluster of dark purple, crimson, and small patches of yellow shaping his knucklebones.

A trail of question rests blistering on his tongue. 'What happened? Who did that? Who were you fighting? Why? Are you okay? Did you win?' But he closes his eyes and bites his tongue, knowing these questions don't belong to him anymore.

He gave up his rights to that.

But then, Tony spots them.

His breath is knocked out of his lungs in a silent punch, eardrums pushing out all the sound attempting to penetrate his ears. His fingers loosen so much they almost drop his water, feeling tingly numb. Tony's eyes, large and surprised, trace the circle of gold curled around Steve's fourth finger, gleaming softly against the artificial light around the dining room.

Steve is still wearing his ring.

But then, his chest burns and booms, heart roars fiercely behind his ribcage as he notices the thin string of black leather circling around Steve's neck, loose as a necklace, hanging low enough for Tony to eye the shape of metal halo looped right in the middle of the material.

Steve was wearing Tony's ring, too.

The realization left him petrified in place, more statue than man, in stunned shock as he bore into his former lover who only then noticed the brown eyes looking at him, transparent astonishment clear as crystal in his features.

It's like a spell breaks.

Tony's limbs move mechanically, on autopilot, running to the nearest room, getting himself away from what his body detects as danger. Urgency is packed on his step, taking him to the bathroom in record time, but Steve's always been the runner, more athletic between them, and his sprinting lands him a spot in the sleat Tony wass about to slam.

He's pinned to a wall effective immediately, feels cold tiles plant clammy kisses on the back of his head and neck. Tony almost hisses at the force of the slam, but before he can make a peep, his lips are stolen in a savage, fierce kiss.

It's pure desperation conveyed in the most unconventional way. Steve pounces on him, lips wild against Tony's own, pouring every emotion he went through in the past few months,- Longing, yearning, craving, hunger, desire, - his being, his love, his soul into that kiss, barely giving Tony the chance to breathe.

"St-Steve, " He gasps, head tilting slightly to the side to escape the ministrations, to gulp air, moving to avoid the chase at reconnection Steve is playing at by trying to capture his lips again. "Wait, wait a minute, -"

"Missed you, " Steve's voice is thick with want, hitching in the small puffs of air that came off raggedy and breathless, words melting over Tony's mouth. Steve's face glows with a blush he wants to kiss with inhuman greed. "I missed you, I missed you,Tony I missed you" Tony's fucked.

[pricescigar]

Vampire AU

My ultimate tradition is making fanfiction for @kretentious

Summary: Elvira Wolff, the greatest Vampire Hunter. Embarks a great journey, into the distant forest of Europe... To find a legendary Vampire.

Through ancient scripts of writing, over the years there had been many legendary Vampires. Roaming the earth's soil, terrorsing the innocent humans. Trying to overcome their thirst and desire for blood, sucking them dry until they was dead. Or become one of them, a group of hunters came together one day. And were determined to destroy every legendary vampire that existed, one by one. Burning all of them into flames, their many weaknesses that had cursed upon them. Over the years they studied them, their weaknesses, how they survived, how they turn people into vampitees. The group of hunters together as one, killed ever single living vampire All but one was left, the legendary Vampire himself. Perseus. Even to this day, no one knows where he is or what kind of army he has. No one has ever seen a true glance of him, all they have is one single picture of the legendry vampire. And all it took... Was one special girl, to finally meet the vampire face to face. And that was no other than the famous vampire hunter of her generation, Elvira Wolff.

Specially organised to go on a special mission to hunt down the legendary Vampire himself, a dangerous, solo mission. That moment where Elvira sold her own life, just to make sure Perseus would stay dead for good. Most rumours came around saying he had died, or completely vanished... Those rumours were deemed to be untrue of course. Every powerful weapon known to all vampire hunters, were packed in a single bag. Gone were the days where they would use: Garlic, the holy Cross, holy water, fire and sunlight. Though the last two may and well be, still good tactics. But the development of the vampires well studied, they became more agile, quicker, tactical and more dangerous as the years went by. And so have all vamprie hunters, drastically changed over the years.

They all turned to the art of machinery, modifying weapons, bullets. Which had drastically damaged the vampires, a sucessful move. But upon recent years, more and more vampires kept on appearing non stop. Many called on to believe, the legendary Vampire Perseus was finally back in action. And was planning something big, everyone could tell and everyone was prepared to act quickly with caution. Everyone with immediate action began planning his big next attack, which could be any day... Any hour, any month or any year. The worst part was they didn't know, when he would do it. Thus why everyone soon, as one together. All came to a decision where they would send off thier most trusted hunter. Elvira Wolff, to take on the dirty job and eliminate the vampire after all. But no one however, told the young maiden. What kind of foes, what kind of allies she would come across her long journey ahead to take down Perseus himself.

The soft couch of the snow could be heard, anyone could hear it. Animals, ungodly supernatural beings. Whoever may be lurking within these European forests... Leaving visible footprints as Elvira walked through the forest, the snow fell down peacefully on a dark winter evening. A cold eerie breeze brushing against her face, her raven black hair flowing in the wind. Making her journey through the inevitble darkness, her mind came to first thought to look for shelter. Not that she was feeling tired, not at all. But the overwhelming sense someone or something, was looking at her. Hungrily. Burdened with desire, and with such interest. Whoever was watching her, waited somewhat patiently for her next move. Elvira looked around with nothing coming to mind, surely she couldn't stay outside in the freezing cold? The village was miles away by now, it would be a great pain to walk all the way back. And having to do the whole journey again the next day.

With a heavy heart and such confidence, Elvira pressed on continuing to walk. What seemed to be forever, she came across a large castle. A large abandoned Castle, seemingly in the middle of nowhere. How... convenient and predictable? She could easily say to herself, but upon recent reports everyone discovering castles deep within forests. These Castles denfiyely belonged to many different Vampires, but this one? She had never seen this castle, or seen it from the pictures back at the headquarters. But still. It was no laughing matter at all, now to come with a decision. Should she freeze to death? Or with a brave face, on her guard as ever. Step into to what could be her inevitable doom, and perhaps her death? Elvira wasn't scared of dying at all, she had plenty of experience killing vampires. So neither of it should be an actual problem, a sigh escaped her lips heading over to the large doors of the castle. Still... She felt an overwhelming and unwanted presence, placing her hand upon the door. Pushing both of them open with all her might, creaking loudly both of the doors opened. Hitting the walls as they did.

Elvira stood there momentarily, all she could see within the castle was overwhelming darkness. Taking a step, she began to walk into the castle. Not looking behind her, the bare little vague light from the outside. Shone inside, this gave the hunter time to get user to what may be around her; Praising to herself she brought herself some matches, not wanting to get lost into some abandoned castle. It looked like no one was here at all, yet what she could tell by the furniture and decorations. Would say different otherwise... The harsh, cold, bitter wind caused the doors of the castle to suddenly slam shut, causing Elvira to jump in fright. The echo of the sound could be heard within the castle. Before it all fell into a deadly silence once again.

"Scheisse..." Elvira spoke softly as darkness took over again, patting her hands on her jacket. Going into her pockets and finding the match, taking out of her pocket to light it. Shining a dim bright light of the match. Venturing on into the castle, no one seemed to be home... Well that's what Elvira at least thought, this castle alone seemed like a good enough place to rest. At least for a couple of hours, before leaving at dawn. As if she wasn't here in the first place. Finding her way what seemed to be the living room, a big fire place was there. She wouldn't bother lighting it. Looking around. The same overwhelming sense of someone, watching her. Elvira didn't like it, looks like she wouldn't get any sleep after all. Maybe it was her gut instinct telling her that this wasn't safe? Neither was the forest, nor this damped castle. So where could she possibly go? Definitely not walking all the way back to the village again, not in a million of years. Taking the heavy bag off of her shoulders, placing it beside her. Taking a seat on the sofa, seeing a candle beside on the table. Leaning over, lighting the candle with the match that was nearly burnt off. Elvira was glad that some form of light was keeping her company, this alone was going to be the longest night ahead of her. Feeling herself slowly drifting off to sleep, her eyes shooting open again. Regaining her posture on the sofa. The last thing she'd want to do is fall asleep, not to forget the strange presence that had endlessly been following her. She would not get an easy rest now would she? Feeling the anxiety was soon to go through the walls, perhaps checking every room would calm her nerves? Yet there were so many, that's what bothered her more. Not to mention all of the little shortcuts, secret rooms. Anywhere esle within these old walls, truly there must be something the young hunter could do, in order to calm down her nerves?

Her thoughts were immediately interrupted when a loud sound was heard, which made Elvira's head turn into the direction where the sound was. Ghost? Intruder? The potneital owner of the castle? Could be anyone really. She grabbed the candle, and a weapon from her bag and began walking over to the location where the noise was. She wouldn't dare to even say a word, if someone knew of her presence that would be the end for Elvira. Espeivay when it came to her own life, the sound wasn't no ordinary sound. Nevertheless, she went to investigate it anyways. Elvira approached over to where the sound was, well to her. Maybe her thoughts were messing with her? She wouldn't know, if she did. Well, Elvira wouldn't be scared anyways, shuffling through the hiding places to see where the sound was. The sound was heard again, and quickly an outline of a figure jumped out. Which made Elvira back away, aiming her weapon. But looking closely with the light of the candle, it wasn't anything dangerous....It was only a rat. Quickly running away from her, a sigh of relief escaped her lips.

"Stupid rat..." Elvira scoffed, shaking her head. Her body and mind was unbelievably exhausted, heading back to the living room. At the moment all she could feel, was her mind and brain feeling on edge. Trying her best to ignore such feelings, another sound could be heard. Which made her eyes shoot open a little more, they were so close to closing at this point. For now she was on guard, she stopped in her path looking around. Whoever or whatever was messing her, wasn't human. Surely? A moment of silence, the light of the candle was getting dimmer and dimmer. The flame nearly dying out. It was this moment that Elvira finally knew, she wasn't alone on this godforsaken castle. Who could possibly be with her now?

"Is anyone there?" She'd finally ask the question, but no one said a thing. Staying in the same position she was.

All what was behind her was darkness, just her and the unavoidable void that was behind her. Before Elvira could even utter a word out of her own lips, someone blew the candle out. And everything fell into darkness

[ourloveisforthelovely]

In Love and Death. Part 4

Harry Potter AU 

Link to Part 3 

Pairings: Regulus Black x Reader 

Rating: M

_____

Regulus let you go the moment that the two of you arrived back at Grimmauld Place. It didn’t take you being in love with Regulus to know that he wasn’t thrilled.

“What were you going to do to him? I’m curious.”

Regulus finally asked. You shrugged.

“I was just going with it. What was going to happen? No clue. I was just sitting there drinking coffee minding my own business than those two idiots showed up.”

Regulus sighed before running a hand through his hair.

“So you just went over to kick Dolohov’s ass? He’s a lot bigger than you.”

“I can hurt people.”

You said, simply before walking into the kitchen. Regulus blinked a few times as he tried to contemplate everything that you had just told him. He quickly followed after you; not caring that Sirius and Remus were sitting at the table.

“You can hurt people? So can they! Speaking from experience, they don’t like to play fair either.”

You had picked up a coffee mug but turned. Sirius and Remus had stopped their conversation to witness the spat going on between Regulus and yourself.

“I know how to play unfair. Come on, Reggie. I didn’t grow up in the Rosier family and go through school as Slytherin and not pick up on a bit of dark magic. I’ve made men a lot bigger than Dolohov cry like bitches before. He is nothing special.”

Regulus wanted nothing more than to walk across the room and shake you until you saw his point. You didn’t realize just how dark Dolohov and your father was. They would kill you as easily as they would look at you.

“You looked like a deer in the headlights when you saw your father.”

Sirius stood up.

“I’m sorry to interrupt but what?”

You turned to Sirius.

“My father was apparently Supernatural dead too. Oh, shit. Moody is going to be pissed when he finds out that he really didn’t take Evan out.”

Sirius met Regulus’ annoyed gaze.

“And you were hanging out with your father?”

You immediately shook your head.

“No. I was in a coffee shop…”

“Minding her own business…”

Regulus added, earning a displeased scowl from you.

“Exactly. I didn’t go looking for trouble. It came to me. Now we have two more problems to deal with.”

“We have more than that.”

Regulus muttered before taking the folder that Remus was holding out. The last thing that he wanted was to have this conversation with you but there was no way around it. You needed to know that your mother was dead.

“If you want to know why I am a bit upset...look at this.”

You took the folder from your boyfriend with a frown before opening it. It took one look to realize that it was your mother. You quickly closed the folder before shaking your head and whispering “damn it.”

Regulus and Sirius meanwhile, looked at each other and shrugged.

“That’s it? No crying or general grieving?”

Regulus questioned. You shook your head. Why should you grieve your mother? She never cared about you anyway. To her, you were always a disappointment. You were not the daughter that Emma Rosier wanted.

“Nope. I knew this would happen eventually. My mother never knew when to shut up. Any idea who did it? I knew that Emma was a goner the moment that I really got to know her.”

Regulus took a breath.

“Your father.”

Your face changed drastically at the comment. Quickly turning, you met Regulus’ gaze.

“How do you know?”

Regulus reached out and took the folder from you.

“Because I know your father. I know his style. He always leaves bodies in the same position. I think he has a bit of a kink for the theatrics.”

You sat down and took everything in for a few moments. Emma had to be devastated to die at the hands of the one man that she loved more than anyone in the world. Your mother never said it but she had never gotten over your father’s death. Now here she was another victim on his list.

“My grandmother is going to be thrilled. She will think Evan has done her a personal favor by killing my mother. She’s going to put him an even bigger pedestal than the one that he’s currently sitting on.”

Regulus had to agree with you there. It was no secret to anyone that knew the Rosier family that Mrs. Rosier always saw Emma as a waste of space. When your mother had gotten pregnant with you, Mrs. Rosier was furious! Had it not been for the fact that she would be getting their heir that the Rosier family needed to stay afloat, it wouldn't have been too shocking if Emma had vanished mysteriously.

“She will be jumping with joy if she wouldn’t break a hip.”

Regulus commented. Both of you exchanged a small grin leaving Sirius and Remus even more baffled.

“You two are really creepy.”

Sirius said. Remus stood up.

“I’ll leave you lot to it.”

“You two don’t know the same people that we do.”

You replied with a smile. Not a truer statement could have been said either. Sirius probably had a good idea. Growing up in a pureblood family himself, he knew exactly how “cold” things could be.

“The truth is the truth.’”

Regulus said to his brother. You took your place on Regulus’ lap as Sirius faked a gag.

“You two are grossing me out. All of this lovey crap…”

You held a hand up.

“First of all, I have watched Remus, Tonks, and yourself for months without little to no complaining. You can return the favor and watch me be happy for once.”

Sirius grinned.

“Fine, you two just snog away. I am going to find someone to play with. Reg, just giving you a heads up that Kreacher is in the dining room doing his version of cleaning. Unless the two of you want to be disturbed by him grabbing Regulus’ leg and pledging undying love...you may want to take this upstairs.”

Sirius left the room with a grin on his face. He still found it hilarious that Kreacher still didn’t seem to fully grasp the fact that Regulus wasn’t going to be leaving anytime soon and held onto him like a toddler.

Once Sirius was out of the room, Regulus returned his attention back to you. His hands were gently pulling your face closer to his.

“I was really afraid that Evan was going to hurt you.”

You nuzzled your nose against his wanting nothing to enjoy the moment of closeness.

“I think the two of us could have hurt him a lot more. He looked like death.”

Regulus chuckled and pulled you into a long kiss.

“Don’t go looking for him again at least without me. From the expression on his face, seeing us as a couple was disturbing enough.”

You wrapped your arms around Regulus' shoulders to press closer.

“We could invite him to our wedding?”

Regulus immediately laughed at the sneaky expression on your face.

“That could work. Give the man a heart attack and we won’t get in trouble for touching him.”

(Meanwhile)

Evan sat across from Dolohov and Rodolphus Lestrange. He had been mostly silent since arriving back after the eventual trip to the coffee shop. Evan’s mind was a pretzel of confusion. There was the fact that he was having to get used to this strange new world that he knew nothing about. In addition, he still looked the very same as he did the day he died. Now there was the realization that you weren’t a child anymore.

Call him stupid but Evan, for whatever reason, assumed that his little girl would still be “little.” He still had the vision of you as a four-year-old little girl sitting in his parent’s home as any good pureblood child should. You would be waiting for him like you did every morning when he had to be away overnight. The sweet little girl with a head full of messy dirty blonde curls that would be peaking out the window until Evan walked through the door.

Now things were very VERY different! You were grown now and nothing that Evan ever expected you to be.

“At least she was sorted into Slytherin, mate.”

“We don’t know what went wrong.”

Lestrange and Dolohov commented in some stupid hope that this would appease Evan. When the man didn’t smile, both shrugged. Evan laughed bitterly.

“So I am supposed to be amused by the fact that my daughter is an auror and a blood traitor.”

Lestrange shrugged.

“I wouldn’t be thrilled if it were my kid either. At least she is dating a pureblood. We all know the kind of man that Regulus is.”

Evan’s frown intensified. He wanted nothing more than to get his hands on Regulus Black at the moment. Why did he think that it would be acceptable to be in a relationship with you and how the hell was Regulus still so young? What was Evan missing?

“Something is different with Regulus. He isn’t like us anymore.”

Evan commented. Dolohov leaned back in his chair. He never cared for Regulus and this was just another example that he could add to his “I don’t like Regulus Black” journal.

“Never understood what the dark lord saw in the kid myself. Baby Black always seemed like a pampered mummy’s boy. Waste of space and dark magic, if you ask me.”

“He used to be a decent man.”

Evan grumbled. Regulus was a good man. He was Evan’s best friend and now he felt betrayed. Evan protected Regulus. If it wasn’t for Evan, Regulus probably would have been bullied until he grew into his own and started fighting back.

“I’ll have to deal with them both. I can’t let my daughter be a blood traitor. She needs to come home to her family where she belongs.”

Lestrange nodded.

“Behave like the pureblood that she is. What of Black?”

Evan stood up.

“Kill him for all that I care.”

______

@fairywriter-oracle

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[writerman]

Psst. Write a hanahaki disease fic for Barduil where Thranduil has it. You gotta write it.

Hey, anon, remember when you requested this probably like a year ago? Yeah, me either...

Anyway, here is what you asked for. I wrote over 7000+ words in a day to finish this asap.

My thanks to @morticia-butler​ for all the help looking up Hanahaki disease headcanons and an iconic line I simply had to include.

This is a long one so some of it will be under a readmore BUT you can also read all my other Barduil prompts via this fancy schmancy LINK

On to the story!

---------------------

8:30am. Thursday. September 17th. Just petals. 

The mirror reflected a pale and haunted image back at him while bright and vibrant yellow petals dusted the front of his pyjama t-shirt. 

Daffodils. 

His favourite. Thranduil, however, had come to detest the sight of them. The sunshine yellow flowers openly mocking him, their bobbing heads in the breeze seen as a gaggle of them laughing almost jovially at his situation. 

No point thinking on it in-depth, not when he could temporarily abate the problem. 

With such a thought in mind, Thranduil brushed the petals from his shirt into the sink and watched as they swirled in the water a moment before vanishing down the drain into the darkness. 

But there would be more. 

There was always more. 

A soft knock at the bathroom door stilled his hand as he reached for his toothbrush and he turned to see Tauriel watching him with concern. 

“I didn’t know you were visiting today, what are you doing here?” Thranduil’s voice was soft as he spoke, though, the lilting sound of surprise cracked his voice for a moment. “Had I known you planned to visit I’d have been ready by now. What are-” Thranduil watched as Tauriel leaned toward him, her hand brushed the fabric of his t-shirt as she plucked a petal still clinging to the fibres. 

“Dad, you said this had stopped!” The words rushed out and they were so loud as she held the petal up between them. While it hadn’t meant to come out so accusing, he could hear the dismay that coloured her words, it still felt harsh and Thranduil braced himself for a barrage of instructions to get himself to a doctor. 

“It was quelled for some time. The doctor gave me special inhalers that slow the spread but I’ve not had the time to contact the surgery for a refill.” He gestured to an empty inhaler laying innocently on its side by the sink. They had helped immeasurably and the majority of his family had believed the disease was done and gone. 

But Hanahaki was not that easy to be rid of, he knew and deep down his family knew that too. It was easier to think he had been cured than to do consider the alternative…

“I dropped by because I wanted to know if you felt like grabbing breakfast?” Tauriel turned from the bathroom door and wandered into her dad’s bedroom, his clothes were laid out already, she paced past the bed and back out into the hallway. “I’ll be downstairs, let’s go out still.” 

There was no time to respond and so Thranduil internally agreed to breakfast with his daughter. She and Legolas were the same in that they were strongwilled, always happy to make a decision and happy to make it for someone else too. 

They definitely had gotten that trait from him, even if he had mellowed somewhat with age. It was easy to recall his younger days with clarity, he walked tall never a curve to his back because he bowed to no one. 

He had been so headstrong and confident, even after his wife had died. People had come to him speaking softly with sincere condolences but Thranduil cast the sorrowful glances aside and carried on working. 

That felt like aeons ago now, Thranduil was more in touch with his emotional and mental health now, gave and took the time of others as freely as he should have when he was younger. Thranduil found value in the world where once he would have shunned it. 

Turning to look in the mirror, that pale and haunted face stared back but the eyes seemed less empty than they had earlier. Even with his disease there was still hope within him, it was choked and stuttering by the roots of the flowers in his chest and lungs but it was there. 

“I can’t give up, not yet.” He whispered to himself. 

They ended up heading to Tauriel’s favourite place for breakfast, it was a small family-run restaurant and the food was good. The cheery wait staff did not match the highly polished wood and marble of the place but it felt strangely homely all the same. 

It was while Thranduil perused the menu that Tauriel brought up the subject, or rather, the object of his disease to him. A public place so he would not make a scene, perhaps, or rather, she hadn’t thought of the setting and only wanted to relinquish her hold on the burning question she had within for months. 

“So, will you at least tell me who it is that did this to you?” Badly worded. No one had passed the disease onto him, that wasn’t how it worked and he knew Tauriel understood that. “Come on, dad. Do they know what they’ve done to you?” Of course, she was angry but why was she being angry with someone innocent in all of it? 

While the majority of the time Thranduil was able to ignore these unnecessary outbursts from his children, there were ofttimes when his frustration got the better of him and one of those times was now.

With hands loosely balled into fists resting on the tabletop, Thranduil pinned his daughter with an icy glare that quashed whatever words she had left inside to say on the matter.  

“I have told you time and time again, I will not tell you who it is. You know damned well that they are not to blame in this. You’ve seen the diagnosis, even though I’ve asked you to stay out of it, you’ve seen the words ‘ self-inflicted’ on the documents.” He voice was low but the chill in his words caused Tauriel to sit back in her seat and avert her gaze from his. 

“I’m sorry-” She stopped when the waitress came over and set down their coffee and a rack of toast. There was time enough between the waitress approaching and leaving for Tauriel to regain her composure. “I’ve read so much about this over the past few months, it might now be onesided that’s all.” She was right but the percentage was low.

Hanahaki disease was such an odd illness to contract, the phenomenon of flowers growing in a person’s chest and lungs due to unrequited or onesided love. The agitation of yearning and pining watered the blooms until the lungs were completely full and the chest cavity would split open with leaves and stems and petals spilling out and killing a person instantly if they hadn’t already died from suffocation. 

But that was only intense cases. There were ways to slow the spread and Thranduil was taking measures to ensure he could do such a thing. 

Regular therapy was one. His therapist was a wonderful woman who guided him through the process of coming to terms with his unrequited love. They spoke of how to be honest and open with the feelings he experienced and how to provide his own closure.

Though, they had many hurdles to jump. Thranduil didn’t believe in closure per se, to him revisiting something traumatic and uncomfortable merely reopened wounds. They’d spent many sessions focussing on the death of his wife and while it had helped immensely in allowing a belated grieving it ultimately had not helped with his predicament.

But he was not to call it a predicament his therapist had said. To remove the seriousness of the disease was to remove the value of his own life. There were many times she had asked him to look from the outside in and speak on the issues in his life as though they affected another person. It had helped and when things looked bleak or if Thranduil began to brush off the seriousness of his illness he would remind himself that he would not allow someone else to do that to themselves. 

The next most drastic step was surgery, but it was a temporary step and it slowed the spread of the disease. Researchers in the medical field studying Hanahaki always implied heavily that the physical manifestations of the disease were caused by the brain and thus Hanahaki was registered as a mental illness. 

It was why doctors pressed so hard for those that suffered to seek therapy. 

“I won’t be involving the person in this what so ever, Tauriel. Please, I ask again that you drop the subject.” How he had pleaded like this before and how it emotionally exhausted him to see the fear in her eyes every time she visited. 

It was all because he knew that one day she feared she’d find him lying dead, a bouquet of blood-stained flowers adorning his chest in a beautiful and grotesque display of the love that had plagued him. 

“I understand that you’re scared but I promise you I have no given up. I have an appointment with my therapist this afternoon and with my surgeon to discuss a date for surgery.” 

His words seemed enough to placate her for now and she instead busied herself with buttering some toast.

3:00pm Thursday. September 17th. Just petals.

“We spoke about your wife again last week, I noted that you requested we move on from the subject. Why do you feel you need to leave that subject alone?” The room was shaded from the bright Autumn sunshine streaming in from the window. 

Thranduil could see the glowing gold around the edges of the blinds and forgot where he was for a moment as he watched it flicker with the shadow of trees swaying the breeze. He couldn’t remember why he’d suggested they move on but it seemed the right course of action to him. 

“I just feel we aren’t focussing on the real problem.” When he spoke he made a point to look at her. Maintaining eye contact seemed important at that moment, he didn’t want her to think he was ruled by indecision. “My wife has been dead for years and we have already confirmed that, as much as I miss her, I have come to terms with her death and grieved appropriately.” Too business-like. As soon as the words had come out of his mouth he knew. 

The therapist merely ‘hmm’d’ in response and wrote something down. There was the internal battle to struggle with now, to explain himself to her or let her assume something of him that he would, personally, deem incorrect. 

“What is it you would like to speak about instead?” 

That was the problem, he didn’t really know. The only thing he wanted to ask was ‘How did you get over someone and quickly?’ but there wasn’t really much of an answer she would be able to give.

Magazines for years had offered ‘helpful tips to get over that person that doesn’t like you back!’ and Thranduil had put no stock in their, so called, wisdom. Now they didn’t publish these things, now they would ask you to seek help if you experienced any symptoms they listed on the page. 

Distraction techniques had been offered by his family in droves at the beginning when his diagnosis had been revealed. Nothing had actually helped because his mind would often wander to the object of his affection when he was practising a new hobby. 

“I think my need to rush these sessions is just because I’m scared of losing myself completely and if I do that, well, you know what happens.” Thranduil gave a half-hearted shrug, he barely lifted his shoulders but it was a shrug all the same and his therapist acknowledged it as so with a nod. 

“Everyone is scared of dying, Thranduil. Perfectly healthy people, people who have terminal diseases. Do you want to talk about your fear of dying?” 

He didn’t. 

They, instead, spoke of newer experimental ideas that Thranduil might have been interested in trying. She wrote out the prescription for the refill on his inhaler and made another appointment for a week later. 

It wasn’t often that Thranduil left the sessions more tightly wound than he had been when going in but he at least knew that he’d need something to talk about next week or they’d get back on the subject of his wife and he honestly didn’t think that was helpful. 

His next appointment was at the doctor's office, they wanted to schedule surgery but they had needed proof he was visiting his therapist before they would agree. It was a messy and an unfair condition but at least at the doctor's office he could get them to fill the prescription so it wasn’t too much of a wasted trip if they refused his surgery. 

1:00pm Friday. September 18th Foliage. 

The office was quiet now. 

Everyone but Thranduil had packed up for the day and headed out to start their weekends. It was a perk Thranduil had implemented years ago and it had been appreciated, even if it had been created to benefit him more so than his employees at the time. 

Nothing was waiting for him at home and there was plenty of paperwork to do so he poured himself a glass of water, took his inhaler and got comfortable at his desk reading through a brief for a new promotion. 

So engrossed was he in his work that he failed to notice someone entering the office and only when a takeout coffee cup was set before him did he move his gaze from the files he had been reading to intently. 

Looking up Thranduil ceased his movement almost instantly at the sight of his best friend Bard. The afternoon sunshine illuminated his handsome face with a soft golden glow, his brown eyes looked golden as he smiled down at him. His cheery countenance was always welcome and so was his gift of coffee but Thranduil could tell his friend was there with an agenda of sorts. 

“Haven’t seen you lately, Thran. You’re not holding yourself up in this office every night until late again, are you?” The concern, it left a shaking and aching hole inside Thranduil and that hole soon became clogged with stems and leaves, give the disease an inch and, well, that old adage. 

“No, I just had something to do here but it can wait. Did you need something?” To try and remain relaxed and carefree around Bard was increasingly difficult, more so when he had endeavoured to hide his disease from him as much as he could. 

“Hm, well, I just had the feeling that you’ve been avoiding me for a while if I’m to be completely honest.” Straight to the point, no beating around the bush for Bard and he had every right to be concerned because he was correct.

Perhaps it was more obvious lately that he had been trying to avoid Bard for a few weeks. Avoidance was never going to be the answer but this man was why he had the disease, or rather, what exacerbated it. There would never be a time he would place sole or even partial blame on Bard for what he was going through. 

“I’m sorry, I suppose I have been caught up in work recently. I’m absolutely not overworking myself before you ask. However, I’ve neglected my best friend and I think I owe you a drink, at least.”

“At least,” Bard repeated in agreement and he grinned, they didn’t move to get up. 

Thranduil busied himself with taking a sip of his coffee, it was a blond roast from Michael’s he could tell without even looking at the logo on the side of the cup. All the while he inwardly cursed the tightness in his chest and new shoots began to sprout and buds began to burst into bloom. 

There was no chance he could even begin to hazard a cough. It’d look like a cat had swallowed a canary. Or a man that had swallowed his feelings. 

For a short while, they chatted idly about what they’d done recently. Bard talked of hating the empty nest syndrome he was suffering now that Tilda had moved out, leaving the family home nothing but a ‘mausoleum of family memories that were visited by a spectre that had helped create them’. It was a dramatic sentence and Thranduil laughed aloud before offering something vaguely sympathetic to soothe his friend.  

“Can’t you clock out already, you own the business let’s get out while it’s still bright,” Bard complained as he rose from his seat and wandered toward the large window Thranduil sat with his back to. “The sun is still warm and we could probably walk to the pub instead of taking the car.”

“Walking to the pub suggests that you don’t wish to have a few drinks but one too many.” As much as he hoped he sounded wise, Thranduil knew Bard would have clearly taken it as a challenge. So they were absolutely going to get drunk that night and Thranduil couldn’t have been more terrified of that prospect.

“I haven’t seen you in ages, you’re my best friend and even if we both regret how bad we feel in the morning, age that does that to you, I want to get drunk with you, Thran!” Ah, old age hadn’t fully caught up with Bard yet, he was vibrant and energetic and hot. Gods above was that man gorgeous. 

That was where it all began though, Bard had blazed into his life when they were in their early 30’s. Thranduil had just lost his wife and was trying to juggle a career and two grieving kids. 

Bard and his wife Anya had helped him. They took the kids to school and picked them up and fed them so Thranduil could… do what? He couldn’t even remember now- he hadn’t grieved that was for sure!

With a 10 year and an 8-year-old broken over the loss of their mother and having no support from their emotionally unavailable father, Tauriel and Legolas had grown up to be quite well adjusted. Though, some of that might have been the therapy they’d gotten as suggested by their school. 

It had happened only 2 years later, Bard lost Anya and he was thrown into a situation similar to Thranduil’s and the roles were reversed. Sigrid and Tauriel grew up like sisters and were still close because of how often they saw one another. They bonded strongly over what had happened to their mothers and became each other’s strength when they needed it.

The same happened with Bard and Thranduil, they became close friends. They took the children on holiday together, camping or water parks and spent their weekends finding activities for the kids that they too could take part in. 

For a while, it had been just friendship, but then as the children grew up and wanted to spend less time with dad and more time with friends they found company in each other more often than not. 

Then Tauriel and Legolas moved out for university, Sigrid and Bain left Bard for the same reason, Tilda was always adventuring with her friends and so when the empty house became too much they would go out. 

Dinner, drinks, a walk in the park, catch a movie or two. 

Innocent stuff, but Thranduil allowed himself to get comfortable and in letting his guard down he let feelings in that he had tried to avoid from the moment he met Bard. 

The problem was when Anya died Bard told Thranduil he couldn’t ever see himself falling in love with another person again. 

This was proven time and time again over the years, dates would happen once or not at all with people that could have been his perfect match, and eventually, Bard learned to ignore anyone that tried to flirt with him. A suggestive smile or even a compliment was brushed off as nothing more than friendly and the more unattainable he became the more Thranduil realised he was in love with him. 

A terrible turn of events to be sure, and now he suffered daily for it with petals littering his pillows and flowers choking out his lungs. 

“Are we going out then?” Bard’s voice cut through the memories Thranduil was replaying in his mind for the hundredth time and how thankful he was when he did. The blooming of the flowers in his chest increased with the thoughts of Bard. 

To say no to the request would put a strain on their friendship. Bard had already noticed that he was being avoided and it would do them no good for Thranduil to continue that. So, with a nod, he got up from his seat and grabbed his jacket. 

“It is a nice day, let’s walk to the pub then.” Intoxication was the last thing he needed but to keep up the charade that all was fine he’d need to at least try and play along. To play the role of a man in perfect health, body and mind, didn’t seem easy but he had to try. 

He would try because he loved him. 

10:45am Wednesday. September 30th. Bursting Blooms.

It was classed as routine surgery but Thranduil couldn’t imagine how hard it would be to slice someone open and remove flowers stamen to stem to root. Temporary as it was, he was thankful they had managed to organise it so quickly, his outing with Bard and the subsequent dinner the night after meant that his condition rapidly grew worse as time went by in the company of his best friend. 

He’d woken to more petals on his pillow than he had ever seen before and his breathing laboured. Even coughing to free up space didn’t work and instead, he was gifted with near whole flower heads landing in his hands.

The kids were horrified as they watched this because of course, it would have happened while they visited. Which led to him having to listen to endless ‘You should go to the hospital right now.’ in a chorus from them both until he showed them the inhalers. 

They sat either side of him in the waiting room now. 

Legolas bounced his leg continuously looking around the waiting room for something to distract him. He’d taken time away from University to be there to help with recovery. 

Tauriel chewed her nails and checked the time on her phone every couple of minutes as if time flowed differently in a hospital waiting room. 

There was no cause for his anxiety to manifest when he was sat between two that were already doing all the work for him. Sadly, he had no words to calm them of their fears because he was just as afraid. 

“Have people died from this surgery, dad?” Legolas piped up out of the blue, he sounded so young in that moment and Thranduil felt guilt course through his veins like ice for putting his children through something like this again. 

When he didn’t answer Tauriel did for him and she shook her head even though Legolas was focussing more on a poster across the room than on anything else. 

“No, because the surgery, while invasive to a degree, only removes some of the plants. They don’t fully remove everything because they simply can’t. Dad is going to be ok, more ok after this than he is now.” Her confidence only shaking by the tremor in her voice and Thranduil hoped Legolas couldn’t hear it. 

“Hmm, ok.” Pensive now Legolas falls silent but his leg continuous to bounce but not as animatedly as before. He was not calmed but something in her words convinced him that the surgery would be fine. 

Though, he didn’t understand why she would lie to him like that. His son was perfectly capable of looking up the survival rate on his phone, it was low just as low as the rate of people that were cured by expressing their feelings to their heart's desire. 

They were approached by a nurse in scrubs. 

“Mr Oropherion, if you would like to come this way.” 

1:56pm Wednesday. September 30th. Roots. 

Someone was gently squeezing his arm.

“Thranduil, you’ve just come out of surgery. Can you hear me?” The same nurse that took him in was now waking him. “We need you to respond to know you’re ok.” 

Nothing felt real yet he managed to croak out something akin to an ‘I’m fine’ but that was it. The need for sleep and an excruciating pain rushed over him and he groaned hands gripping the sheets as he waited for it to subside. 

“Out of 10, 10 being very painful and 1 being not painful at all how do you feel?” The nurse was holding a clipboard and a pen, they looked down at Thranduil with an expectant look and merely blinked blankly when Thranduil didn’t respond right away.

He needed more time than this to consider everything, on the one hand, he could breathe on the other the pain of being sliced open and stitched back together was awful. 

“Ah… 8 maybe?” His whole body shook as he came out of the anaesthetic and all he wanted was to leave his body while it was in this state and return when he was at home comfortable in his own bed with a cup of tea. 

His time in the recovery room was short and he was wheeled into a private room where he was greeted with the grim face of his best friend. Bard looked awful, pale and he seemed to have aged 10 years all with concern etched deep into his face. 

“You were having important surgery and just elected not to tell me?” It was quiet, so quiet that Thranduil almost didn’t hear him speak. It wasn’t until they were fully alone after someone had administered strong painkillers, that Thranduil finally acknowledged what Bard had said to him. 

“I didn’t need more people worrying about me than was necessary. I’m sorry, Bard. I should have told you but I didn’t want you to ask what the surgery was.” If he was honest, he still didn’t want Bard to know and if he asked him then and there he would outright refuse to tell him. 

Even if keeping such secrets ended their friendship it would be safer then, the heartbreak of losing him as a friend was all the cure he needed and it would continue to protect Bard from the truth. 

“If you had just told me that I could have been here for you from the beginning! Instead, I get a call from Tauriel asking me to come by and sit with Legs because she had to go grab something from home. I had no idea what she was talking about so you can probably expect a gushing apology from her later.” Bard dragged a hand through his dark hair, now laced with silver, as he started to pace. 

It wasn’t fair. 

Life wasn’t fair but this was kicking a man while he was down! 

“I’m sorry, Thran. I didn’t mean to come in and just… yell at you. How are you feeling, are you ok?” Bard moved towards the bed and poured a glass of water out and handed it to Thran who took the offering gratefully and slowly sipped the cold water in trembling hands. 

“Why can’t you tell me what the surgery was?” Bard pulled up the visitor chair so he was sad right by Thranduil’s bedside. For a moment he seemed indecisive in his actions until he, apparently, had a moment of clarity and took Thranduil’s hand in his. “Is it… cancer?” The words were uttered almost reverently as though he was afraid to speak the words any louder than a whisper. 

Could he lie and say yes? 

Oh, how disrespectful he would be to cancer survivors and those who had lost their battle. No, he could not lie and so he shook his head feeling more forlorn with each passing minute. The desperate need to wrench his hand from Bard’s was unbearable, the heat of the man’s hand seared into his skin and he couldn’t think straight wondering how it would be to hold his hand and know he loved him back. 

Something inside him grew and already a new bloom began to sprout. 

This was too dangerous. 

Gods, he was dying and yet he still thought he had a chance with this man sat at his bedside holding his hand whispering words to him like a prayer. 

Eventually, he knew he’d had to put an end to all of this. 

How he wasn’t sure. 

8:36pm Saturday. October 10th. Stems. 

The children had just left, left with promises to be there again in the morning but Thranduil waved them away and told them it was not necessary to coddle him in such a way. The look on their faces told him he really had no say in the matter what so ever. 

The surgery results were more temporary than he’d have liked, petals had started appearing again after a mere 10 days. With the inhalers they were few and far between but only 10 days of respite. His scars not yet healed from the procedure! 

All in all, it seemed to have been a waste of time but at least he was still able to breathe with relative ease, though emotionally it seemed he was breathless. Legolas and Tauriel barely gave him a second alone and were hawks when it came to spotting petals.

At first, they’d been nigh hysterical but Thranduil had calmed them down and explained that these things happened and that he was still able to breathe well enough so there was nothing to worry about. 

They hadn’t believed him. Not even for a second but they were distracted enough to come down from the height they’d been at in their worry. 

The doorbell rang not even 5 minutes after the children had left and Thranduil assumed one of them must have left something behind, so when he opened the door to find Bard on the doorstep he was surprised but ushered him all the same. 

“It’s late, what are you doing here?” Thranduil shivered and pulled the long misshapen and baldy knitted cardigan tightly around himself. It had been a gift from Tauriel, she had knitted it and then proceeded to never try knitting again yet Thranduil adored the huge thing that near drowned him. “Aren’t you coming inside?” 

He noticed after a moment that Bard lingered a little too long at the door and seemed frozen by indecision. It wasn’t like him to be unsure of something so Thranduil prodded again. 

“Are you coming in?” But Bard wasn’t looking at him, he was staring at the cardigan and feeling self-conscious Thranduil wrapped his arms around it trying to cover the large holes, but Bard kept staring until Thranduil actually become protective of the garment and snapped at him. 

“What are you looking at?” Much like Tauriel had done before, Bard leaned forward and between his finger and thumb pulled a yellow petal away from Thranduil’s clothing, it seemed much brighter in the gloom of the autumn evening. 

It seemed enough for Bard to piece together the truth and he looked dismayed, his shoulders dropped and his head dropped for a moment before he forced himself to look up at his friend. 

“Is.. this why you had surgery?”

“Let’s not do this on the steps outside, come in and I promise I will answer all of your questions.” That seemed to put him in motion and with a short nod, Bard stepped into the warmth of the house and Thranduil shut the door. 

“How long have you had this?” 

Straight to the point, Thranduil had hoped he’d be given the chance to offer tea or something else before Bard started grilling him for answers. Honestly, though, he knew the question Bard wanted an answer to the most and Thranduil didn’t think he had it in him to tell him that, not yet at least. 

“Hmm, a year now, maybe?” It had been so long since he had been without the cursed disease and he hadn’t exactly been counting, seeing it was more a count down to his death if he truly tried to rack up the days. 

“Is there a cure, will you die from this?” The panic appeared from nowhere and Bard bit his lip as he tried to work out what he wanted to do next, he seemed to want to cross the room toward Thranduil and pace so to put a stop to either Thranduil made him sit down. 

“I will make tea and answer those questions when I come back.” One of them had to remain calm, while he would have loved to have thrown away his composure and screamed to the Heavens that life wasn’t fair he didn’t think it would help his situation in the slightest. 

When he returned with the tray Bard was stood again but this time by the fireplace looking at the family photos set out across the mantle. They were mostly of himself with the kids, one of is and Bard’s family all together on a camping trip and one of his wedding day. 

“Hanahaki, huh?” He must have googled it while Thranduil was in the kitchen, that was fine but he probably knew more than Thranduil would have liked now. “So the surgery you had was to remove some of the flowers… ah, I can’t pretend like I’m not going to ask. Who is it that did this to you, Thran, who is the one that can’t or won’t love you back?” The tone seemed one of incredulity, as though Bard couldn’t quite believe there was anyone in the world who couldn’t love Thranduil.

But there was. 

“Does it matter who and isn’t it better to see that I am trying to get better instead of giving up?” Deflect the question by asking a question, the only thing he could do as he poured tea and tried to stop his hands from trembling. “I am doing everything the doctors say I should.” 

“Which is?”

“Haven’t you just checked the internet for all of this?”

“Well, yeah, but I want to hear you say it, that’s all.” The conversation was going nowhere because Bard clearly couldn’t stand not knowing who this person was that had captured Thranduil’s heart and refused to return it. 

“I have therapy every week, I have inhalers to slow the spread of the blooms and recently I had surgery to remove the majority of the blockage but the roots are deep.” Such a drastic admission and so unfair to reveal his imminent death so casually. 

Taking a sip of tea, Thranduil watched Bard’s face cycle through several emotions before settling on… nothing. Instead of responding Bard merely added some sugar to his tea before lifting it to his lips to drink. 

“So, you were just planning on dying without telling me?” The words came out flat as though the conversation was casual yet boring. He had hurt his friend that much he was sure of but there wasn’t really much of anything he could say to soothe him now. Bard had been right, and what Thranduil had thought was caring and helpful turned out to be more selfish than anything else. 

“No, I would never do that to you, Bard. I don’t want to keep these things from you but please see this from my perspective. This isn’t something I want to scream from the rooftops- ‘LOOK AT ME EVERYONE I AM DYING BECAUSE THE PERSON I LOVE DOESN’T LOVE ME BACK AND I AM NOT EMOTIONALLY STABLE ENOUGH TO ACCEPT THAT!’ why would I want to reveal my weakness to someone? If Legolas and Tauriel hadn’t found out I would not have told them either!” He didn’t like being weak like this, not after a life of being seen as an unshakable strength a rock that you could rely on. Everything was beginning to crumble why would he want to bare his soul now? 

“Fine but don’t think I can just forgive you for hiding this from me. After everything we’ve been through together you just fail to tell me that, 1) you’re in love with someone, and 2) You’re dying because of it.” Bard set down his cup a little too hard and pushed himself to his feet and headed for the door. “I… I have to go, Thran. I’m sorry.” 

He was on his feet in seconds following Bard to the door but the man was already in his car by the time he got out onto the steps to call him back. 

“You don’t understand…” Thranduil whispered as he tugged at the cardigan pulling it tight around him against the chill. “I didn’t tell you to save you from the guilt that I know you’d feel.” Of course, the words merely dissipated into the cold night air and the vapours trailing each word rose into the sky before vanishing completely. 

At least the universe heard his admission of the truth. 

4:00pm Friday, December 11th. Nothing but a memory. 

They had given him a clean bill of health. 

No roots, stems, stamens, petals, not even a leaf remained. The flowers had wilted and withered to nothing and Thranduil took an easy deep breath as he left the doctor’s office. It was a chilly December evening and he was adjusting his scarf when Legolas nearly bowled him over running into him his arms thrown around his neck in a tight embrace. 

“I heard the news! You’re better now for good?!” The excitement in his son’s voice brought genuine tears to Thranduil’s eyes and he buried his face in Legolas’ golden hair for a long month savouring the warmth his son gave. 

When they broke apart Tauriel was stood by her car, the engine still running. They must have just arrived as he was leaving. She gave him a cheery wave before climbing into the car to shut off the engine. 

Thranduil hadn’t confessed his feelings to Bard and Bard had not confessed his to him. Instead, he had worked hard to understand that sometimes your feelings just were not reciprocated and that was ok. 

Platonic love was just as good as romantic love, sadly, he hadn’t been able to speak to Bard since he’d walked out on him all those weeks ago. While he would always love Bard he understood that what he had done was hurtful and if he’d been given the chance he wished he could apologise. 

It had never been his intention to hurt his best friend but he had been so caught up in his own pain he had forgotten to consider those nearest and dearest to him. How had it been fair to hide such a horrible problem from those he held dear? 

“Have you heard from… him?” Tauriel knew everything now, she’d gotten it out of him not long ago, he was at his lowest and needed someone who might understand. It was not his proudest moment, leaning on his daughter emotionally for support, but she had been steadfast in her support of him that it seemed so easy to tell her everything. 

Thankfully, Tauriel didn’t hold the reaction Bard had against him. 

“I had been angry just like him too, remember?” 

Oh, she had, she had screamed murder in his home, right in the centre of the living room, when she had realised and didn’t speak to Thranduil for days. It was the longest she had ever gone without talking to him before, a whole 6 days until she came around and they talked about what it meant for the family. 

But now they were fine, life could resume. Thranduil could live with seeing them without the soft concerned glances Tauriel and Legolas would exchange when his chest grew tight and he wheezed as he tried to grasp a full breath. 

If only he could repair his relationship with Bard. There weren’t many he shared his life with and losing someone was extremely noticeable when that someone was fully apart of his daily life.

Even visiting his usual haunts proved useless. There didn’t seem to be a trace of him anywhere and Thranduil was much too much of a coward to walk right up to his door and demand to be let in. 

Yet, none of his calls were returned or his texts answered. When Tauriel asked Sigrid if her dad was ok she just shrugged and said he wasn’t doing anything unusual of late, but he had been grabbing a drink with workmates more often. 

That wasn’t a cause for concern as Bard had always been the friendly and sociable type. 

Whatever was going through his friend's mind he sincerely hoped he would take the time to consider contacting him so they could talk. There were only so many text messages he could send without looking incredibly desperate. 

5:30am Tuesday, December 24th. Easy breathing. 

A shrieking doorbell and the sound of continuous banging on the door jolted Thranduil awake and he swore loudly as he tumbled out of bed and shuffled wearily down the stairs. Whoever it was had better have a fantastic reason as to why they had to get him up at stupid o'clock in the morning!! 

When he pulled the door open to see a rather dishevelled Bard using the door frame to hold himself up the air in Thranduil’s lungs seemed to vanish. He stood motionless for a good 30 seconds before helping Bard inside. 

“You absolutely reek of alcohol. What are you doing here?” 

There was silence proceeding his question and, at first, Thranduil thought the man had fallen asleep on the sofa where he had collapsed but it appeared he was just thinking of the best response. 

“I had to see you.” Surprisingly he didn’t sound drunk and Thranduil considered that the cold must have sobered him up. For his own mental health, he decided against asking him what he meant about having to see him. 

“I don’t know about you but the larks aren’t even up yet and I am tired. Let me make some coffee for the both of us and we can see if I can’t get some sense out of you.” As he turned to move Bard’s hand shot out and his fingers curled around Thranduil’s wrist tugging him backwards with ease. 

“No, let me speak to you, hasn’t it been long enough already?” A sleep-deprived gravelled tone did not suit Bard and Thranduil could see dark circles around his eyes. Whatever had been on Bard’s mind of late must have had him up around the clock. 

“You were the one that decided you’d had enough of me, remember?” 

Those words caused the man before him to relinquish his grip on Thranduil’s wrist and he just gave a nod but when Thranduil didn’t move he took a deep breath and began to speak. 

“I’m sorry that I made it about me. There wasn’t even a second where I considered how scared you must have been to know that any day could have been your last.” 

“Yes, well, thankfully those days are behind me now.” 

Like a shock of electricity had gone through him Bard jumped to his feet looking this way and that before having the decency to look genuinely apologetic. 

“Did I interrupt your sleep with them?” In the light of the living room, Thranduil got a better look at him and something inside him clicked into place and he had to withhold a groan when he realised he had definitely, once again, fallen in love with his best friend. 

“There is no one, the person I was in love with, I’m not in love with them now. It took a long time to come to terms with the fact they did not care for me the way I wanted but I am better because I started to love me more.” Oh, what a liar he was. Yes, he did care for himself a lot more but he was falling right back into the rut he had been not 8 weeks ago. 

The second he started spitting petals he was going to wring Bard’s neck. There was no way he was going through all that again!

“There’s no one, ah, good. That means I have a sliver of a chance to ask you out on a date then.” 

No, no he wasn’t doing any of this without coffee. As much as he wanted to address every single word the man had just uttered he wasn’t doing this without caffeine and maybe some toast. 

Without a word he walked off into the kitchen and, like a lost puppy, Bard obediently trotted in behind him trying to get his attention. No, no, no, he was going to fill the machine with coffee beans and put bread in the toaster then he was going to get the toaster and throw it at Bard’s head! 

Whipping round to face him, Thranduil grabs a fistful of Bard’s shirt and pulls him close enough that they are nearly nose to nose. 

“You’re telling me that you have developed feelings for me in the past 3 months I have been in recovery?” 

Fear was the only emotion in Bard’s eyes and they were wide to the point the whites almost exceeded the iris. It would have been funny if Thranduil hadn’t wanted to throttle the man where he stood. 

“Well, I wanted to tell you I loved you as soon as you opened the door but you’re so scary when you’ve just woken up. You’re scary now, please don’t kill me. I love you!” 

That was it. 

“You LOVE me? Is that so Mr I Will Never Love Again? IS that so?!” There was a mixed bag of emotions stirring up inside him but mostly the murderous intent was winning out. Killing Bard wasn’t really on the cards but he wasn’t going to let the man get away with nearly killing him for over a year even if he had no idea it was his fault. 

“You are very, very, very lucky that I just so happen to love you, too.” The iron grip on Bard’s shirt relaxed and he tried his best to smooth the deep wrinkles but it was not to be. Regardless, he had Bard looking at him with a sappy grin plastered over his pale face like he’d been told he’d won the lottery and not the affections of a highly problematic male. 

“R-really?” 

“As much as it now pains me to say this, yes, I do love you so very much. So much so that my heart could burst if I tried to contain it any longer.” The thumping of his heart was so hard in his chest that he was sure Bard could have heard it if he’d tried. Somehow things were falling into place now with such little effort. 

There had been a chance Thranduil would have found himself bitter about the whole thing and shunned Bard’s advances. Revenge should have been high on his list with the grinning idiot before him but he couldn’t bring himself to do anything other than lean in and press a kiss to his Bard’s lips. 

“Really, really.”