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geraldineswriting · 4 years ago

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𝐁𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧

(𝗠𝗮𝗶𝗻 𝗠𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁)

𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺 = 𝘓𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘯𝘢 𝘚𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘙𝘢𝘧𝘦 𝘊𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘰𝘯 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘦 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘥𝘶𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘫𝘰𝘣 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥, 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘵’𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦.

𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘊𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵 = 2𝘬

𝘗𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 = 𝘖𝘊 𝘹 𝘙𝘢𝘧𝘦 𝘊𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘰𝘯

𝘞𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 = 𝘓𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦 & 𝘈𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵 & 𝘍𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧

(𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘨𝘪𝘧, 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘰𝘸𝘯𝘦𝘳!)

Small snowflakes filled up the frostbitten window, while the dimming fire started to burn to ash in Liliana’s living room. The wind blew through the vents in the ceiling, filling up the air with loneliness and indecision. The young girl sitting on the couch was lost and in love with a love that didn’t exist. A love that always lived in her dreams but never spilled over to reality. Her soft pajama pants were clean and new but her heart was tattered and bruised.

Liliana looked over to the picture that had been framed and put on her shelf three years ago, showing a boy and a girl with their arms placed over each other so naturally that it was questionable. She could still feel his arm being placed on her shoulder and his laugh in her ear, “Smile like you mean it, Liliana Stuart.”

That was the night they first met, caused by her unabashed loud laugh, which resulted in Rafe’s curiosity to see what could be so funny at one of his family's parties. She went home that night, finally knowing what it was like to fall in love with a stranger. It took the next three years for her to find out what it was like to fall in love with someone who couldn’t love her back.

Liliana had been home for the past six days, not caring to leave her house or turn on her phone. The street lights that burned through her windows kept her company while the thoughts in her head left her haunted. In the past week, she had come to a few realizations that needed to be recognized. For one, she was in love with Rafe Cameron and the choice to pretend she didn’t was no longer an option. Second, she needed to move on because sacrificing even another day of her sanity just so he could unknowingly spend his time in her head was now pointless. And finally, she had to tell him. There was no other way for her to find closure except to hear it from his own mouth. Liliana knew and now she had made a choice.

In the past three years, she had become best friends with a boy, who then turned into a man. She knew the Rafe that hurt people but now she knew the Rafe that had turned his own and others pain into forgiveness. He’s still the same man she met all those nights ago, but now drugs, negativity and immaturity were no longer in the picture. He had opportunity and promise, now not just as a wealthy kook but also as himself. Maybe that's why he accepted the job offer to the mainland. Maybe it was something else.

Liliana sat up, memorizing the cracks in the floor, trying to understand it all. When did her curiosity turn into adoration? Why can’t she unlove him? Why can’t he love her? She knows every answer but because of the flame that is burning in her heart, she needs to put it out. She needs to be able to wake up everyday and not ache with the false knowingness of imaginary maybes. It was time to move on.

The phone was picked up and turned back on, the screen turning from black to color. A few texts pop up, but only one catches her attention.

Are you alright? Call me.

Such a simple question that carries such a complicated answer sent from such a beautiful person. It looks like it was only sent a few hours ago as she pressed his contact and called him. She held the phone much tighter than she meant to, nervousness creeping into her bones and settling itself as the goosebumps on her skin.

“Thank fuck, are you alright?” Rafe asked breathlessly into the phone.

“Yeah, sorry for disappearing, I-I,” She paused, no longer knowing that way with which she wanted this to go.

“It’s okay, I know what it’s like. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“Thanks, I’m fine. I was actually wondering if you were busy right now?” Her nervous laugh filled the sudden silence. Is she being stupid? Reckless? Or is she doing the right thing?

“Uh, yeah, yeah. Sorry I was looking at the time. Yeah, want me to pick you up?”

“Sounds fine, see you soon then.”

“See you soon.”

Rafe hung up and her ears were only filled with the faint sound of absolute silence. She felt scared and maybe even terrified. She looked back over to the picture frame on the shelf, his smile breaking her heart. How many times has he given her that same smile, all happiness and teeth, unknowing to the repeated pain it left her with. If only she could unlearn every smile, and laugh so that maybe his curse could be lifted off of her. She could be free.

She stood up and slipped on a pair of sandals, keeping on her pajama pants and sweatshirt. She decided to wait on the front porch, even if a light snow covered the ground. Maybe the cold could freeze the river of heat flowing through her heart.

She waited for a few minutes until she saw his small car pull up in her driveway. As she walked towards the car to get in, he jumped out, racing over to her side first.

“Wait, I think we both need a hug first, it's been too long.” He wrapped her up in his arms and for a fleeting moment she remembered why she ever mistook his friendliness for more. He felt like a healing heart, an ending to end all endings.

“I missed you Liliana Stuart even if it’s only been a week.”

“And I, you Rafe Cameron.” She could feel the painful lump in her throat, the feeling of tears crawling their way to her eyes. She was able to temporarily blink them back before he pulled away. She couldn’t let him see her pain, not tonight.

They both got into the car, him speeding down the street to stop into a desolate parking lot. She had a feeling that he knew she wanted to talk, which made this conversation somewhat easier to handle. She had to be strong, to not show her weakness.

Once he parked, her hands clammed up in the pockets of her sweatshirt. Liliana felt his eyes burning into her skin like fire. She matched his gaze, so many different questions burning between the two. He grabbed her hand and squeezed it.

“What’s been going on Liliana?” He whispered into the silence, trying to make himself seem comforting. Rafe had a deep feeling he knew what this was going to be about.

“It’s been a hard week and I just needed to think about things. With us I mean.” The tears were coming again and this time they were unstoppable. They seared her eyes, even though she used every bit of strength to fight them off. Just like loving him though, it was useless to try and stop.

“Hey, it's alright, you know you can tell me anything.”

“I don’t know how to tell you this Rafe,” She paused trying to gather her thoughts. “To put this into words just seems impossible.”

He could hear the anxious thoughts rolling around in her head. He could see the tears cascading down her face like a never ending waterfall of pain. He couldn’t stand seeing her like this.

“Well then how about I start?” He squeezed her hand tighter, now holding her hand in both of his. She looked out the window as she nodded, not standing the fact that she was having such a hard time doing something that should be so simple.

“I uh, we’ve been friends for three years and you mean so much to me. I know that something is wrong but just know that whatever it is, it won’t change our relationship. I’ll still be here.” He took a deep breath, trying to pick his next words carefully. He knew that he didn’t want to hurt her more, or make this any worse. “I’m guessing this has to do with more than just me moving away for that job.”

Liliana couldn’t stand the heartstopping pain that coursed through her lungs from using every bit of her self-control to not say what she couldn’t.

“Rafe, that’s the thing,” She gasped for breath, “I want our relationship to change. It’s the fact that no matter what I do you can’t love me like I need you to. My hands are so empty except for when they’re in yours. I’m just, I’m just in love with you and I don’t know how to make you love me back.”

The ball had dropped. The unspeakable words were spoken. They both knew his next words would heal or break her heart. She tore her hand away from his hand, holding her head up on her own. The only proof of her sobs was the shaking of her shoulders, face hidden away from his sight. She couldn’t look him in the eyes when he shattered her into pieces.

Rafe wasn’t surprised those were the words that tumbled from her lips. Some part of him always knew her heart belonged to him. He just wished she had told him earlier because now things had changed. He was moving and starting a new life in a land that she had no plans to travel to.

He gently placed his hand on her back, taking back one of her hands with his other.

“Hey, come here.” He spoke so gently, as he guided her into his arms. She gripped his shoulders, crying into his neck.

“I’m so sorry, Rafe. I’m sorry.”

“There is absolutely no reason to be sorry,” She felt his hands on her back, holding her like she was a fragile piece of fine china that was breaking no matter how hard he held on.

“You know I love you back right? I always have.” He felt her cries pause as she slowly leaned back from his sheltering hug. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

“I never said anything because I never imagined you could feel the same. I thought you only ever looked at me like a friend.” Liliana spoke in a tone she hadn’t used in years, a tone with sincerity and happiness intertwined together. She couldn’t believe it.

“Since the night we met, I’ve always loved you Liliana Stuart. I just wish one of us said something sooner. We both know things have changed now.”

And there it was. The happy moment that filled the air with static had ended. Reality was once again set into place and it was cruel and unapologetic.

“So what do we do now?” She asked quietly, scared that if she spoke any louder it would chip further away at their already cracked hearts.

“Well the first option, which is my least favorite, is we do nothing. I move away and every once in a while we'll do our best to keep in touch as friends.”

“I don’t like that option either. Option two?” He was relieved to hear her answer.

“Option two, we try out a relationship until I leave. Then, well I guess, we go back to being friends. Again not my favorite choice.”

“Please tell me there’s another choice.”

She wished so deeply that he wasn’t moving away, or that they had this conservation years ago. This seemed entirely unfair for both of them. Love wasn’t supposed to be like this, timing was supposed to be rooting for them, not making things harder.

“There is our last option,” He held her hand, looking into her swollen eyes. “You come with me.”

“Yes.” She spoke with such vibrance and assurance that it was undeniable. She had made up her mind and nothing could possibly change it.

“Are you sure? I don’t want you to regret this Liliana.”

“Are you going to regret this Rafe?” He didn’t even need to think twice.

“No, not if it’s you.”

“Then that’s that. I’m coming with you and we’re doing this.”

They couldn’t stop looking away from each other. They finally had unspoken permission to love each other without the secret glances and stolen touches. They were each other's for the taking, no holding back.

“Can I kiss you Lil?”

“You better Rafe Cameron.”

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mae-gi-writes · 4 years ago

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Somebody Loves You | Kevin Moon (The Boyz Imagine)

Bandmates au! in which Kevin finally realizes that the love he’s looking for is standing right here beside him.

Genre: angst, fluff at the end, friends to lovers au, bandmates au.

Words: 1.6k-ish?

------

All she could remember were the tears on his face.

And then, then came the heartbreak. Along with that, the sad songs bouncing off his piano keys like soulful siren singing melodies about the dead and haunting her in her sleep. The floor was always littered with crumbled paper and when Y/N had enough courage to smooth one out, realized that they were nothing more than lyrics singing of a broken heart.

The break up had come unexpectedly. A quick slap in the face, as she liked to call it. But after that day, Kevin was never the same. Oh he tried, tried his best to fake it behind a cracked mask that always managed to crumble half-way throughout the day, but Y/N knew him like the back of her hand, knew exactly the slightest microscopic expressions that shifted in his face, which made her even more aware of his countenance every single time.

One time, she found him curled up on the corner of the couch in their small practice room -- tucked away in one of the school’s back buildings that nobody ever ventured to -- with tears cascading down his face in crystal translucent jewels, carving paths along his cheeks and dripping off his jaw as he kept his eyes averted from her own.

“Kevin,” Y/N sighed, before plopping herself down next to him, “did you eat?”

The young man shook his head. Of course he hadn’t. Nothing much interested him these days.

She made a frustrated sound, “you can’t keep doing this to yourself, you know.”

“It hurts,” came his murmur, words choked with tears.

“I know it does Kev, but--” Y/N’s hand landed on his shoulder in a soft, warm caress, “you have to move on. She has.”

He sniffled for a few minutes more. Then, he wiped his nose with his shirt sleeve, gladly accepting the tissue she provided him upon noticing his struggle, “thanks,” he merely mumbled, a breath of words so quiet and weak she feared he might break in two.

“Come on,” Y/N’s hands went to cup his face before pulling up the corner of his lips with her thumbs. She grinned at him, “smile. Come on, it’s not the end of the world. You have me.”

A tear-filled chuckle escaped his chest, “yeah,” the corners of his lips tugged up slightly, “yeah I know.”

The next few weeks were swamped in a constant routine of practice and attending lectures whenever they weren’t too wiped out afterwards, which Kevin accepted the distractions with open arms. Slowly but surely, Y/N watched his expressions clear, his eyes getting lighter and lighter, chuckles coming a little easier to him now, and smiles gracing his face more often times than not. It was relieving, to say the least. Y/N’s heart couldn’t help but jump up in happiness whenever she remembered how far he’d come from the broken mess Kevin once was, though these facts were things she kept hidden like a secret she would carry to her grave.

She’d never tell him; how he’d stolen her heart, and that now she was his entirely if he wanted. No. She couldn’t, never had even before he even started dating his ex back then.

So imagine her shock when Kevin bounded up to her after her Marketing class to tell her:

“Miha texted me.”

Y/N blinked for a few seconds. The name was enough to make her stomach drop.

“What?” a frown fell like a dark shadow over her face, “What did she say? What did she want?”

He shuffled from one feet to another, clearly sensing the unfriendliness emanating from the girl before him, "well, she said a lot of stuff...about how she misses me. And how she wants to talk to me, clear things up because they way we left it was--" his words stopped short upon noticing the scowl spreading over Y/N's face faster than he could utter Miha's name. Instead, he asked, "what? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"You're not going to meet her, are you?" Were the only words that she managed to splutter out of the multitudes of protests ringing through her mind.

"Well," he scratched the back of his head, looking strangely embarrassed, "I don't know, I thought maybe I should go, we didn't have any closure and--"

"Are you insane?"

Kevin blinked, "no, I just thought--"

"She broke your heart," Y/N shook her head and her fists impulsively clenched at her sides in hopes that she wouldn't sock him one. Frustration flared through her, "she broke up with you and left you in this mess by yourself. You-- You were terrible Kev, you weren't eating and you barely slept. Why would you want to go back to that?" She searched his eyes, attempted to seek out what was going on inside his brain, "why would you?"

"Look Y/N," she watched as Kevin's expression hardened, "I'm really grateful for you, I am. But it's no big deal, okay? It's just a lunch to talk things over."

"Just a lunch?" She laughed, though it sounded empty, "there's no such thing as 'just a lunch'. "

"Why do you even hate her so much? She didn"t do anything to you--"

"You know what? No." Y/n threw her hands in mock surrender, "you do what you want. I'm done. I want no part in this."

"What's wrong with you?" Kevin's voice rose with his anger. It was clear that he was just as rattled as she was, "why are you acting like it's such a big deal?"

How dare he say that.

Anger vibrated through her chest. Invaded her lungs.

Suddenly, it gelt all too hard to breathe.

How dare he, when all she had done was be there for him? When she had vaught him with open arms and nursed his bruised heart back to life.

How dare he.

"How dare you," her voice shook with restrained anger, "how dare you say that when all I've done was for your sake?"

"Y/N I didn't mean--"

"Yes you did!" She cut him off with a yell as tears pooled from the corner of her eyes, "you meant every single word and I'm not having any more of it! You--" she let out a slow, shaky breath through her mouth, body practically vibrating with rage, "you don't even see me, not in the way that I do.”

"What do you mean--"

"I love you, alright?" Her hand tugged at her hair, "I always did, Kev. And seeing you so broken, I hated myself for it. It hurt me as much as it did for you. I'm not going to stick around just to see it happen again."

And before waiting for Kevin to answer back Y/N swivelled on her heel and marched away with her head held high, even as tears wlowly dropped down her cheeks and her heart shook every step along the way.

For the next few weeks, Y/N aboided Kevin at all costs.

Not only was she swimming in huge embarrassment at the prospect of having confessed her somewhat undying love for him, but it did not help matters that she couldn't erase the image of his closed-off, hardened expression as they argued back and forth.

--------

It was obvious whom he'd chosen to side with. Y/N wasn't supposed to feel bitter -- actually hated herself for being so petty -- but she couldn't help it. It was like his presence was a ghost that haunted her every day life, a constant reminder that he wasn't here anymore.

So Y/N avoided the band practice room like the plague, skipped classes they shared, so much so that their drummer -- a cute quirky freshmen who went by the name of Eric -- decided to confront her right as she was about to exit her statistics course.

"Why aren't you coming to band practice lately?" Eric asked as he followed Y/N's footsteps echoing down the hall, "something's wrong. You wouldn't be acting this way otherwise. Tell me."

"Nothing's wrong," she muttered while dragging her feet, attempting not to scowl at the wall before her.

"Sure, of course nothing's wrong," Eric rolled his eyes, "that"s why you're sulking like a five year old child."

"Just leave me alone."

"Is this about Kevin?"

She stayed quiet. Reacting to his statement would just confirm his suspicions.

"It is, isn't it?" Eric continued while the girl struggled to keep her face void of emotion, "he's been acting all weird too. Hasn't been practicing as much, and apparently he's still talking to that ex of his-- which, by the way, I do not approve of -- but he looks off, Y/N. Like he doesn't even want to hang out anymore."

"Not my problem."

"Y/N," a hand fell upon her shoulder then. Eric squeezed her softly, "I'm not stupid. I know you guys fought for whatever reason. But for my sake, please come back. Come and and talk to him," he paused, then added a soft, "please."

Usually, a few prods from Eric here and there would prompt Y/N to make the first move. But not this time. She wasn't about to apologize to Kevin for having done nothing wrong. If anything, she was the one who should be apologized to!

Instead, Y/N took this chance to call up her mother who laid just a few hours away in the suburbs, asking if there was any possibility for a visit. A break would do her some good and by the older woman's delighted tone on the other side of the line, Y/N guessed that it would please her mother just as much. The older woman didn't hesitate to gush at the many dishes she would prepare for her only daughter, prompting Y/N to smile despite all the circumstances.

Trust her mother to make her feel loved when nobody else could.

And so, it was a few days later when Y/N packed her things for the weekend. She ambled out into the shared common room, bid a casual goodbye to her flatmates, before starting towards the train station, her heart already lifting with hope with every step that brought her closer to home.

Only for that hope to shatter when a familiar alto burst through the air.

"Y/N!"

Turning towards the sound, the said girl's eyebrows stitched into a frown upon noticing Kevin's figure running up to her as if he was the one about to his miss train.

"What do you want--" she didn't even have time to finish her sentence when Kevin's arms snatched her over to his chest, one of his hands weaving into her hair before he tilted his head and crashed his mouth down onto hers.

"Wha--" the words choked up in the back of her throat as Kevin moved his lips onto her own in the most sensual dance with a desperate, almost aggressive need. His hand at her waist tightened, slipping underneath her shirt and causing her to gasp, electric tingles shooting up her spine.

He kissed her with ardour, with a passion she didn't know he possessed. He kissed her until her knees felt weak and until her head spun deliciously from his attacks; mouth suckling onto her bottom one, nibbling at the skin and -- impulsively -- Y/N couldn't help but kiss back.

A growl vibrated through his chest at her response and she almost fell, pliant in his arms. His tongue pushed at her mouth, delving in without warning and eliciting a soft whimper from the said girl as her own arms slithered their way up his shoulders and into his hair.

He was everywhere. His scent. His taste. He tasted so familiar and warm and just--just Kevin.

She hadn't realized that they'd been moving until her back collided with the cold, cemented wall of her apartment building, the contrast of its iciness and Kevin's warmth sending another surge of hot desire through her chest.

"Don't leave me," Kevin breathed through multiple kisses, his voice hoarse and rough from their kiss, "don't leave. I'm sorry."

It took ever ounce of Y/N's brain cells to figure out what he was sorry for.

"For what?" She mumbled against his mouth.

He drew back with a soft sigh and a whine almost crawled up her throat at the loss of heat. Pressing their foreheads together, noses touching, he murmured, "for everything. For not listening to you, for not seeing you, I-- I was so stupid for taking you for granted and it's only when you walked out on me that I realized--" he exhaled shakily, "that I realized how much...how much I loved you."

Closing her eyes to let his words wash over her wounds, she felt like pinching herself.

It didn't seem real.

Kevin didn't seem real.

And as though she yearned for that clarification herself, her hand reached up to press her palm against his cheek.

The man's eyes closed, taking in the feel of her skin, her warmth, against him.

And when he opened them once more to find her brown orbs swimming with flecks of sudden affection, he couldn’t help but lean forward again.

"I'm sorry," he pecked her mouth chastely, "I'm sorry," his kisses trailed over her jaw, up her cheek while he kept on muttering a string of apologies that caused a troop of butterflies to flutter through her stomach. Her hands fisted through his shirt unconsciously as Kevin continued showering her face in a rain of kisses that left her heart cartwheeling in her chest, heat springing through her cheeks at the way their bodies practically molded into each other.

His firmness pressed against her curves. Sensual heat pooled at the bottom of her stomach.

“Please just--” Kevin’s alto broke at the last word, “just don’t leave.”

To be fair, she wasn’t actually leaving for good. But it seemed like Kevin had understood it all upside down, for he thus nuzzled his nose into the crook of her neck and hugged her close as though fearing that she might disappear at any given moment.

She took a deep, shaky breath. Let it out slowly through her teeth, “I’m not going anywhere, Kev.”

She felt him pause, “why are you all packed then?”

“I’m just going to visit my mom for the weekend.”

Another pause. Then:

“Oh.”

Silence.

“Oh. Fuck.”

Laughter bubbled straight out of Y/N’s lips the moment Kevin lurched back to gaze at her with wide-eyed panic reminiscent to that of a young deer in the headlights. He was just too adorable for his own good and while she pitied the fact that Eric had merely dramatized the situation of her leaving, she was grateful. Kevin would never have acted so impulsively if he wasn’t desperate.

And now, she knew that these feelings were actually reciprocated.

“Stop,” Kevin brought her back, pecking at a spot right underneath her jaw as she kept on laughing, “stop laughing. It’s not funny!”

“Oh my-- Oh my god. You thought I was leaving for good, weren’t you?” Y/N tried, and failed, numerous times to force the laughter down though it was proving to be quite difficult.

Her heart felt so much lighter than just a few minutes ago. It was soaring through clouds, literally floating up to the heavens in happiness.

“I got scared okay?!” Kevin prodded at her tummy, face dropping into a pout, “I thought you were never going to come back because of--because of what happened.”

“I’m not that dramatic.”

“I know, I’m usually the drama queen.”

“So,” a teasing smile lifted at the corners of Y/N’s lips. Her eyes narrowed towards his, mischief dancing in her eyes, “you love me, do you?”

“You’re never going to let me hear the end of it, are you?”

“Nope,” she singsonged, “it’s too adorable to forget.”

“Hmph,” Kevin groaned slightly and she shivered at the contact of his lips against her collarbone. He lifted his head to kiss her cheek softly, mouth traveling over to land on her lips then, “as long as I get a girlfriend out of it, I’m okay with that.”

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the-impossiblegirl11 · 4 years ago

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Take me back

*Intro to The Night We Met begins*

Peters POV

No. Any song but this one. Please. My heart starts to clench, and I feel stuck where I’m standing. No. She’s gone. She’s gone. Why this song? Why now? My hands start to sweat, and I’m transported back to that day. The last day I saw her smiling.

——————————————————————————-

“Peter you have to hear this song I sang background for it’s so beautiful. Promise you’ll listen. In fact, get up. Now. We’re going to dance to it.” You say determinedly with a small smile

“Here y/n/n? what if someone walks in? if the guys come in, they’ll never let up on the teasing.” You frown at peter and give him a look making him cave instantly

Peter takes your hand, and you ask Friday to play the song in your room speakers. He looks at you and smiles.

You are smiling for the first time in a long time in your favorite outfit. A band tee, one of your many flannel shirts with leggings and your blue high-top converse. You looked so happy and carefree. This is how he’d always remember you.

He looks down as offer your hand to him with a small curtsy “Would you care to dance kind sir?” he nods “I’d love to my fair lady” and bows to you.

I had all and then most of you Some and now none of you Take me back to the night we met.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do-haunted by the ghost of you. Oh, take me back to the night we met.” You sing along in peters ear “Pete listen. It’s so beautiful. Let’s always appreciate the beauty of life from now on okay?” you say to him resting your head on his shoulder

You two sway to the song for a while and peter listens to it and tears up a bit.

“Who taught you to dance baby?” peter asked you smiled softly and whispered “Dad. He’d let me stand on his toes as he took the lead. He used to twirl me like a princess listening to the best songs. He taught me to enjoy music.” You say and whisper “I miss him. I miss dancing with him at two in the morning. I miss him dancing terribly to bachata or singing loudly in my ear.” Peter smiles at you and kisses your head.

Peter had been so busy lately he’d been neglecting you a bit. He’d been trying to balance being SpiderMan and Peter Parker that he forgot the third part of himself. You. After Mr. Starks passing you had been going to school every so often so you could spend time with Morgan and Pepper.

He hadn’t seen you much, only when you stayed in the compound. Peter looked at you and realized you had smiled so much that night, but it was a kind of tired smile. Something was wrong. Every cell in his body could feel it.

Peter wasn’t prepared for what came next though. After a moment of scanning your face you relent and speak.

“Peter, I have a condition called AVM. It’s located in my brain. It’s inoperable. It’s wrapped up and nestled pretty deep so, in other words I’m a ticking time bomb. I’ve opted not to try anything that would cut my life shorter. Who knows? I may live until I’m 90? Let’s just enjoy the rest of our lives together.”

Peter drops his arm from around you and faces you with a broken look “Why tell me then? If you don’t know how much time is left, why tell me?! You know I can’t lose anyone else y/n. We lost your dad a few months ago. I just thought losing Mr. Stark was making you this way now you’re telling me I may lose you too?” Peter heads for the door immediately closing it on you.

That was the last time he saw you awake.

_______________________________________________

Meanwhile back at prom

Peter was on his knees in the middle of the dance floor and started to sob. A crowd started to form around him, and the whispering started.

‘I heard his girlfriend was sick and told her he didn’t want her if she’s dying.’

‘I heard he was there when she died.’

‘I heard she died because he told her he loved someone who wasn’t dying.’

‘I heard she had a seizure, and her body couldn’t handle it.’

‘I heard that the blip made her that way.’

‘I heard she helped write this song for HIM.’

‘I heard he told her to die, and then she did.’

Ned and MJ had heard the song playing from outside the hallway and had ran to find Peter- immediately finding him in the middle of a crowd in a ball crying. They pushed the onlookers away and went to gather an inconsolable Peter.

“Peter get up. Please don’t do this to yourself. Y/n wouldn’t want you crying like this. She loved you so much. Don’t do this.” Ned says “Pete if my wife could see you, she’d tell your baby ass to get up and remember her happy. Get up.” MJ says to peter.

Suddenly Peter looks up and out at the dance floor seeing a lone figure curtsy and reaching out to him. It’s Y/n. Y/n in the dress she’d picked out months earlier for the prom. Dressed in her favorite blue converse.

And then I can tell myself What the hell I'm supposed to do And then I can tell myself

“Peter come. It’s our song. I requested it months ago. I’m glad they’re playing it.” The ghost you say with a smile. Your hand out waiting on peters. Peter lets out a shaky breath. This isn’t real. You’re gone. He saw you take your last breath. And yet you’re here. In your favorite shoes- in your prom dress.

 Not to ride along with you

I had all and then most of you Some and now none of you

Everyone around Peter gasps as they look at the scene unfolding as if they see what he sees. He looks at Ned and MJ and they are in shock. “Y/n? is that really you?” MJ whispers brokenly looking at you with tears in her eyes grabbing Neds hand. They see her too? They see her too. Peter races to you elated that this is somehow real.

“Peter I’ve missed you so much. I’m here for you. You need closure. I’m here until this song is over. It’s a good thing I requested it 4 times then. Come on now you owe me a proper dance.” You say with a smile “Would you care for a dance kind sir?” Peter smiles at you

“I’d love to my fair lady.” He says with tears in his eyes and wraps his arms around you “I miss you so much y/n. How can you be so okay with this?” he whispers in your ear you smile and whisper back “I’m in the arms of my first love. My only love. I’m getting a chance to say goodbye. Until the day I see you again. I’m with dad again Pete. I’m happy. I just want you to be now.” He nods and grips you as if you’d vanish any second.

Take me back to the night we met I don't know what I'm supposed to do Haunted by the ghost of you

Oh, take me back to the night we met

Peter cries against your shoulder and ear “I’ll always love you. I promise I’ll try to be happy again. I love you. Thank you for doing this.” You start to hum in peters ear along with the song.

“Let’s always appreciate the beauty of life Peter” you whisper and start to untangle yourself from him. “It’s not your fault I died Peter. Life is unpredictable and it was my time. So live your life I’ll be waiting for another dance Peter.” You kiss him on the lips and walk to the exit “Remember me Parker.” you whispered as you disappeared

I had all and then most of you Some and now none of you

Take me back to the night we met

I don't know what I'm supposed to do Haunted by the ghost of you

Take me back to the night we met

Peter lets go of the breath he was holding “Take me back to the night we met.”

——————————————————————————

I’m sorry if this is trash guys. I haven’t felt really inspired lately. I guess that’s depression for you. I’m truly sorry. I started so many stories and they just end up not being posted or finished because I don’t know what to do with them. This is the first one I thought of that came out somewhat decent. Again sorry. I hope to write about things I actually know. I may write about a Hispanic bisexual character. Who knows? Give me input please. If you hate it or love it tell me! I won’t take it to heart much.

#peter parker #peter parker x reader death #peter parker x stark!reader #peter parker x reader #sorry guys #Spotify #i dont even know

41 notes · View notes

writerman · 4 years ago

Note

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.”

#Barduil #Bard the Bowman #Thranduil #Hanahaki disease #The Hobbit #AU #Anonymous

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earthstellar · 4 years ago

Text

MTMTE HALLOWEEN 2020 FIC: Costume Party

SUMMARY:

Rodimus sets up an Earth style Halloween costume party at Swerve’s to help boost the crew’s morale. Things get a little... weird, when they start to behave like the creatures their costumes represent.

PAIRINGS:

Rodimus/Megatron and Drift/Ratchet

WARNINGS:

It’s spooky, there is some talk regarding Drift’s traumas, and there is bloodshed/violence in a very creepy way. Please be careful and do not read if you are potentially upset by suggestive violence, blood, etc.

IMPORTANT NOTE:

I was unable to finish or edit this on time for Halloween; I’ll post the final version to AO3 when it’s ready, but for now, here’s what I have! Enjoy the preview!

Rodimus was happy to let Swerve host a Human Halloween event in the bar.

Swerve had wanted to do it for a while, but evidently had to wait for the right Earth season despite the Lost Light being absolutely nowhere near Earth. Rodimus agreed that they could use something fun and distracting to lift the spirits of the crew after a somewhat bad supply pickup had gone south and resulted in a thankfully brief dry spell as they'd had to go without their usual ship wide energon supply, resulting in the bar being shuttered for the duration until they were able to stop at Hedra Nine for a full restocking.

Ultra Magnus had been the only one pleased at the brief closure of Swerve's bar, as it certainly cut down on his workload, but it was unfortunately Ultra Magnus that had to be convinced of the idea. Hence the emergency command meeting currently underway.

"So explain to me again the purpose of this holiday." Delivered in a flat tone, Ultra Magnus never failed to intimidate.

As usual, Ultra Magnus loomed over the relatively small table positioned in the centre of the room, where Rodimus, Drift, and Megatron sat with some research in hand on various data pads, as well as some footage from Rewind and Swerve's collection of human media.

Rodimus, undaunted, continued his pitch.

"It originally started as a folk religious practice around appeasing the spirits of the dead and keeping ghosts, the spirits of deceased humans, from haunting homes and towns. Essentially. But in modern Earth context, it's all about having fun, dressing up as scary or silly characters and getting to relax a bit during a time of year that Earth people relate with darkness, bad weather, that kind of thing. It makes people happy during what were traditionally difficult times. I think we could use something interesting and fun to get the crew back into better spirits after that mess we had to deal with in the Astreus System. See? Fun can have a logical purpose: To improve crew morale. It’s… fun, Mags. People tend to enjoy it. I think it'll be fine."

Rodimus leaned back in his chair and grinned, sure that he had made a strong case. Megatron was absorbed in a data pad featuring a collection of human myths and tales about the holiday, centred around the origins of the modern practice as it was the most relevant information, although he was interested in the older history of the celebration and where such practices may have come from.

Megatron was surprised by the depth and complexity of the human holiday. He was still getting over some of his lingering prejudice towards organics; Reading up on their cultures and history was one way to root out what was left of his more harmful mindset. The best cure for ignorance was often simple research, after all… Orion Pax would be proud. He nearly laughed at the thought.

But he found himself looking forward to Swerve’s little seasonal party, even if there were no seasons per se to celebrate out in open space. Rodimus had made a good point; The crew could certainly use the distraction, and Rung had advised him to try new things that had no associations with any past memories or experiences as part of something they were trying in therapy. He wasn’t exactly excited for it, but it could tolerate it. Especially with Rodimus also in attendance; Undoubtedly most of the attention would be drawn away from him, at least.

Ultra Magnus was completely still, a telltale sign that he was considering something, running through his extensive memory storage of ship protocols and broader applicable legislation in the hopes of finding something that could possibly mitigate any poor outcomes— Rodimus had won, it would certainly help crew morale and such intentions were covered by rules regarding health and safety of passengers and crew members. Fair play.

The bulletin from Swerve, once approved, had been sent out to everyone on board. The event was fairly simple, a marathon of various Halloween themed human movies, followed by a costume party at the bar. Teams of three were allowed to submit group costumes for judgement by a panel led by Ultra Magnus, partially because it was the only way to get him to participate and partially because it was the only way to have a judged competition without anyone complaining of unfairness.

The mood had immediately improved, with the Lost Light buzzing about costume design ideas and speculating on who was joining whose team and what the chances of winning might be.

Rodimus beamed, happy for all the chatter and gossip. His crew was happy, so he was happy. And Megatron was invested as well, glad to go along with it, enjoying the literature about it. He couldn't be more excited for the event; He trusted Swerve to make it as extravagant as possible, despite the limitations of their supplies on board and what little in the way of textile fabrics they could find and pick up from smaller stop-overs at various stations operated by organics along the way prior to the day.

Rodimus had been concerned about the cost, but Drift was enamoured with the spiritual background of the holiday, and seemed all too willing to provide the spare shanix for anything they could find for the crew.

So far, it had been going incredibly well. Rodimus was excited himself, as he couldn't wait to see everyone's final costumes, but the idea of Megatron getting a break to genuinely enjoy something with him brought warmth to his spark, making it spin even faster in its casing.

"Okay, everybody! We had a lot of interest in the costume aspect of this whole thing, but it seems only three teams actually came together to participate in the judged competition. However, most of you have turned up in costume anyway, so it all works out! The judging will go faster and you can all guzzle down some of the special drinks on the menu for tonight only. Welcome to Swerve's, and Happy Human Halloween!"

Leave it to Swerve to kick off the night in style; The doors were thrown open and bots rushed in, claiming booths and seats at the bar, some mild squabbling already starting but quickly dialled back under the watchful eye of Ultra Magnus, who had refused to wear a costume and was fully on duty as usual from his judge's perch near a makeshift stage Perceptor and Brainstorm had thrown together from spare lab materials.

Nobody had seen anyone's costumes prior to the night, so there was a significant amount of ooing and ahhing over the most successful looks, providing a great distraction for the costume contest participants to slip mostly unnoticed behind the stage setup, preparing for the reveal to the judging panel: Ultra Magnus, Chromedome, and Cyclonus.

As the bar continued to fill up and the noise levels increased, Swerve put on a specially composed mix tape for the ambient music that his extensive research had stated was sure to be a success:

Something called the "Munsters Theme" kicked off the night, and things still appeared to be moving ahead as planned, all in attendance having a good night, and the Lost Light hummed with friendly chatter.

The three costume competition teams ended up being

There was the Command Coven, consisting of Rodimus, Megatron, and Drift with witch themed costumes. Drift was more than happy to provide crystal necklaces and little wands for each of them, each designed to replicate gemstones found on Earth, with Megatron's being amethyst, Rodimus adorned in carnelian, and Drift himself wearing amazonite.

He had chosen the colours and designs in accordance with his Spectralist beliefs, as well as something Swerve had shown him called "mood boards" from Earth social data nets, which had kept him up well past his usual recharging hours. It seemed to not have impacted him at all for how thrilled he was at the excuse to dive into human spiritual practices, although he faltered somewhat at the sight of the next team's arrival...

The Medbay had submitted a team, largely thanks to Drift constantly bothering Ratchet about it, with Ratchet himself as well as First Aid and Velocity appearing in vampire themed costumes. They had no team name because Ratchet couldn't be bothered, and was more concerned about the medbay being largely unattended during the event... Although begrudgingly, he did admit to Drift that having the central medical staff immediately on hand in the bar probably wasn't all that bad of an idea.

And the final team, the Minibot Monsters, consisted of Tailgate as a swamp monster, Rewind as a mummy, and Swerve himself, wearing the world's least convincing werewolf costume.

Swerve was the only person with two costumes, so as not to reveal his "true" costume too early in the night; What he was wearing while manning the bar and letting people in was something inspired by Gomez from the Addams Family, although nobody else on board got the reference save for Rewind, who was suddenly upset they hadn't picked that as their group theme. Tailgate was just thrilled to have shiny scales temporarily detailed over his paint job, lending a shimmering effect to his every move.

Back stage, the teams began to intermingle a bit, although mindful of not violating any of Ultra Magnus' rules about potentially spoiling the integrity of the judging process by helping other teams with costumes and so on for about fifty pages.

Drift took in Ratchet's costume, approaching a bit too tenderly for it to be the effect of any engex he may have consumed before hand. It set off Ratchet's diagnostics coding, returning a reading of increased anxiety indicated by signs of ever so slightly rising energon consumption levels as Drift's fuel pump started to rev at a slightly elevated rate, as well as a touch of fatigue from Drift's lack of recharge time beforehand.

"What's wrong? Are you afraid of losing?" Ratchet teased him, but only gently, probing to see where Drift was mentally at the moment. Did dressing up have bad connotations on Rodion? Was Drift relating this to some disguise or situation from his past that was potentially upsetting? Ratchet was ready to leave at any time, stress over an unmanned medbay lingering in the back of his processor; He'd be happy to grab Drift and go if need be.

"I uh, you just did a really good job with your costumes is all. I mean I expected the cloaks and all that stuff, it looks good on you by the way! But the denta..."

Ah.

Ratchet shuffled a bit. "Yes, apparently Velocity found in her preparatory reading that human vampire lore emphasises pointed denta. They--"

Drift interrupted, looking at the ground, looking anywhere but Ratchet's face. "They siphon their energon, or whatever human stuff, blood, from living people. They're siphonists. Like I used to be, way back, when I needed to get fuel, and... And they're evil."

Immediately, Ratchet realised that of course, Drift would associate the vampire fangs with so much suffering from his own past, with cruel comments and judgements forced on him by bots who had no idea what it was like to starve or have to turn to any viable alternative to survive, including taking energon directly from the fuel lines of others.

He raised up his hands towards Drift, testing to see if he'd be welcome for a hug. Drift looked up a bit and smiled, stepping into Ratchet's arms and accepting a brief embrace before Ratchet pulled back to look him in the eyes, hands still lingering on his upper arms.

"Listen, Drift. If this is too much for you, we can go. I can go, you don't have to miss anything. I can take this all off and it's an easy fix; It's a minor procedure to numb and file them back down, and of course we were going to do it afterwards anyway. Velocity thought it would be more realistic if we just went ahead and altered our denta for the sake of it, but I should have thought more about how that might affect you. I--"

Drift leaned up to quickly kiss Ratchet, immediately jerking his head back with eyes wide, seemingly having not fully registered the fangs that met his until they physically pressed against one another, before giving a shakey smile.

"No, it's okay. I just wasn't ready for it. The thought of you having to resort to... Anything like that, it makes my spark hurt. It reminds me of a lot of things I don't like about how I had to get through some hard times, you know? But I don't want you to go. I want you here. Plus... Now we match, right?"

Leave it to Drift to try to power through something so significantly distressing to him. Ratchet appreciated the effort, but saw right through it.

"I mean it, if this bothers you, I'm ready to get back to the medbay, undo it, and we can hit the bar again together later once things have eased up a bit, no problem. The humans might think vampires are evil, and a lot of bots might think siphonists are... Frightening, but I need you to know that they're not the same thing. People are often wrong about what they don't understand, and you only did what you had to in order to survive. And I'm glad you did it. If you hadn't, you wouldn't be here. With me, at a party that will be fun if you still want to go through with all this."

Drift optics gradually returned to their usual brightness, his signs of anxiety slowly disappearing on Ratchet's constant scans, putting him at ease as well.

"Thank you, Ratchet. I'll be okay once the shock wears off. I think it's a good costume choice, and you really do look good in the cloak. The black makes your white paint look brighter! And it's fun to think of all the spooky human stories... And some of our own too, I guess. Imagine, a siphonst medic! You would't have any patients, that's for sure." Drift smiled, making a point to flash his own fangs. Clearly he'd recovered from the initial shock, although Ratchet decided he might try to talk it out with him at some point when they weren’t caught up in all this. He didn't want Drift to suffer any blows to his self-esteem, or fall back into a trauma related depression, even a relatively minor one. He was glad Rung had a positive policy for booking short notice sessions, which reassured him a bit. Any problems, they could all work it out together.

"Well, I think anyone who needs a doctor badly enough is willing to go to whatever doctor happens to be around, in my experience. Siphonist or not. And are you calling my paint job dull? I'll have you know I polished my armour for this. Or First Aid did, at least. He was insistent that we represent the medical team as best as possible."

"Seems like he's learning some things from you about professionalism, Mister No Crystals in the Medbay."

"Hey, Ultra Magnus agreed with me. It violates... Some rule."

"Sure it does."

It was finally time for the costume contest, and

"What happened? What happened? Hey! Someone else get up already!" Rodimus wasn't one to panic, but he was maybe actually slightly panicking. A little bit.

After the Great Sword had reacted to Drift's incantation, everyone had experienced simultaneous processor reset from the energy surge, and it was taking some time for people to come around from the harsh and unexpected reboot.

It seemed everyone in the bar had been affected by the wave, not dissimilar to an electromagnetic pulse, with bots slumped over their tables, a few leaning precariously over the bar, and others laying on top of each other where there had been only standing room left.

Rodimus had been the first to wake, having fallen into a draped position half over Megatron and half pressed into the makeshift stage curtain, briefly tangled in his distress over waking up and feeling... Odd.

He felt like his spark was super charged, like he had ingested far too much high grade energon and was borderline frying his own circuits. It was like his fuses had been blown, but a quick self-diagnostic came back completely normal, nothing out of the ordinary, everything working fine.

His sensory input felt magnified somehow, like he was feeling the EM fields of everyone in the bar at a hundred fold.

It wasn't bad. Just very, very odd. Which was never a good indicator of anything, the way things tended to go on the Lost Light.

He briefly considered paging the medbay, when he caught the passed out shaped of Ratchet and Drift together in the centre of the stage; Ratchet must have picked up on whatever was happening and had made a dive for Drift, resulting in both of them clattering to the ground on top of each other.

Everyone he would turn to for help had also been affected; There was no

"Megatron, wake up!"

—-

"Ratchet, oh Primus, please, are you okay?" Drift had finally woken up, exhausted by his lack of recharge on top of the huge surge of energy that had burst forth from the Great Sword, which was connected somehow to his spark energy... He was drained, but determined to get a response out of Ratchet before he could even consider his own wellbeing.

"Ratchet! Get up! Something's happened with the sword, and it's my fault, and I don't know what happened!" Genuine fear started to seep into his vocaliser, which was likely what finally jarred Ratchet back into awareness.

"...Drift? Are you alright?" Ratchet's voice was low and rough, still drowsy from the forced reboot. Drift knelt further down to help get a grip under Ratchet's shoulders to keep him from slumping over again, being careful of anywhere that may have been injured as he collapsed.

"My scans are showing me you’re fine, but I think I need to run a diagnostic on myself... I feel like I haven't refuelled in Primus knows how long. My fuel tank was reasonably topped up before this, is anyone else experiencing similar symptoms...?" Ratchet was slowly regaining his bearings, relying less on Drift for balance once being sat upright, although they both remained seated with their legs tucked under them in the middle of the stage. Drift felt he could relax ever so slightly now that Ratchet was responsive enough to be engaging his medical protocols.

"We all feel a bit strange. Me and Roddy feel overcharged almost, like having two sparks in one frame. It’s… intense, but manageable. Megatron is still out, and Roddy seems to be more charged up than I am. It might be a Matrix thing with him, we don't know. My fuel levels are good, feeling the opposite of drained right now. Our internal diagnostics are coming back normal, but that's clearly wrong. Any ideas?"

Ratchet was slow to reply. He was never slow to reply, not when it came to medical matters.

"Ratchet?" Drift grabbed Ratchet's shoulders, preparing to brace him and lay him out gently in case he lost consciousness again.

"Drift, I need you to listen to me carefully. I don't know what happened. I don't know what's happening now. I can't identify any apparent problems in my own self-diagnostics, aside from the erroneous fuel tank level discrepancy. I'm not leaking fuel from anywhere, I'm not burning it off any faster than usual. I'd need access to the medbay for more in-depth scans, but I don't think it's a good idea to be wandering the halls right now. We should keep this contained to the incident area as much as we can..." As he continued to speak, Ratchet looked more and more stressed, more concerned. And that concerned Drift.

"What are you getting at, why are the halls unsafe? Do you think this is some kind of attack? It originated from my Great Sword, it was... I think it was the incantation. It had to be. Ultra Magnus made sure the threat level was at a minimum--"

"No. I think that if we went out there, we'd be making the halls dangerous ourselves. Don't you feel that?"

Drift felt his spark grind to a halt.

"What are you talking about? I feel fine, I feel suspiciously better than fine. Are you okay? Are you dizzy?"

"...No. I'm energy depleted. I need fuel." Ratchet leaned forward until they were pressed flush against each other, their knees touching in their kneeled position on the stage, chests touching right over their spark chambers. Drift kept his hands rested on Ratchet's shoulders, grip light, unsure of what to do.

When suddenly, and with all the strength of a field medic frame, Ratchet leaned in and closed the rest of the distance, pushing Drift backwards to the floor so his knees lifted from their bent position and his legs splayed out under Ratchet, who was now so close to laying across the top of him that it nearly took Drift's breath away.

Ratchet whispered directly against Drift's neck cables, close enough to his audials that it made Drift's spinal strut shiver and lock up. "I need warm fuel. I need your fuel.”

Drift immediately froze. This didn't sound like Ratchet. This couldn't be Ratchet. Because Ratchet would never make him feel this vulnerable, he would never do this. Ratchet isn't a siphonist...

...Or he wasn't before whatever just happened, happened.

"Don't do this!" Drift had intended to scream it, but it came out as a whimper that only Ratchet could hear as his breath was taken away by the pointed denta scrapping gently along the central fuel lines in the side of his neck, just above his collar plating and below the corner of his tilted helm, as Ratchet’s glossa searched for the most medically sound place to puncture the lines and begin to siphon fuel.

Imagining Ratchet's mouth full of his energon, still hot from being cycled through his systems, Ratchet’s face swirling the fuel around his fangs and smiling at him in sick contentment the way Drift knew he himself had done to others in his past filled him with a level of dread and distress that he didn't know he was still capable of feeling.

He tried to roll to knock Ratchet off balance, but he was now pinned beneath the medic, whose wider frame was made for detaining unruly patients and built to cope with such resistance. The moment had only caused Ratchet to get a better glimpse at his central fuel lines, Drift's neck having flexed in the process, encouraging a small thrilled hum from Ratchet that terrified Drift straight to the spark.

He couldn't let Ratchet do this. He wouldn't let him become a siphonist. Ratchet is a good mech, a kind-hearted mech, and Drift refused to imagine what would happen if Ratchet drained him of fuel and snapped out of whatever this was and hated himself the way Drift had hated himself...

...But at the same time, they were in a room full of vulnerable and disoriented bots. Many of whom had still not fully rebooted and had no chance of putting up any defence at all. If Ratchet was under some spell, or whatever was happening, then there was no guarantee that he would be able to be restrained, or that he could restrain himself, from simply going after someone else.

Drift realised in horror that if Ratchet didn't get his fuel fix from him, right now, he would likely just hurt someone else while in this trance-like state, focused solely on satisfying a feral hunger... Drift could at least relate, and was awake enough to consent as much as possible under the circumstances, and it didn't take all that much effort for Drift to talk himself into going limp.

As he rested back flat against the stage floor, Ratchet briefly froze, giving Drift a flash of hope that he was coming to his senses, that his medical protocols were overriding whatever this was and that he would immediately jump off and apologise and demand another systems check before they started working out whatever was going on.

But instead, Ratchet made some awful little low trilling noise, lowering more of the weight of his frame against Drift's chest, and whispered into his neck: "Your vents are spewing out so much heat. Your fuel will be so warm in my mouth. Listen to my voice, Drift. You know how much you mean to me. I won't hurt you, I'll never hurt you. I'm a medic. I want you to feel good, be healthy. Forever. I want you to feel the way I do."

Drift was caught between old traumas and the trauma currently unfolding. He had no response, cleansing fluid building up behind his optics, threatening to cloud his vision and steam up his lenses from the inside from all the heat his rapidly spinning spark was generating throughout his systems.

He vaguely became aware of some almighty commotion happening somewhere in the bar, but he didn't dare attempt to move. He couldn't have even if he tried. It was painful hearing Ratchet like this, the kind voice worn by age that he was familiar with tainted by something rough and sinister, for all the friendliness it still contained.

"Did you read all the human myths, or just about the crystals? It seems the Earth vampires can turn another human into one by sharing blood, their energon. After I take a sip from you, would you bite into me? Or would you prefer if I clean cut one of my fuel lines for you to suck on? Would you do that for me? We match, after all.” Drift could feel Ratchet flash a wide smile into the side of his neck.

Ratchet's voice was starting to have some kind of cognitive effect on Drift's processor, numbing him to the waves of anxiety and making the noises in the bar seem even further away, sinking him into Ratchet's grip, making it impossible to activate his own vocaliser.

"We could be together forever, Drift. No more flitting in and out of each others lives. Security. Safety. Stability."

With Drift completely flattened beneath him, helm lolled to the side and central fuel line finally exposing the medically ideal spot to place a bite, Ratchet was satisfied. He leaned in and sunk his pointed denta into the perfect centre of the line, immediately creating a suction and drawing a swift stream of warm energon into his mouth, a deep moan from Drift weakly rising from beneath his grasp--

--And at that moment, Rodimus with immense precision drew down a bar stool leg directly into Ratchet's helm, the metallic clang echoing through the room as Ratchet’s head was forced away from Drift’s neck, a pool of energon steaming up from the tear in the central fuel line, ripped open further by Ratchet’s pointed denta never having had the chance to loosen the bite first.

Rodimus quickly put himself between Drift and Ratchet, kicking Ratchet in the shoulder to create more distance while avoiding harming him as much as possible before turning to face Drift.

“Primus, Drift, we shouldn’t have left you two alone, some of the others started waking up and Megatron’s still struggling a little with the hard reboot, are you okay? Drift?”

Drift barely registered what Rodimus was panicking about as he was only gradually coming out of whatever state Ratchet had put him in. He felt like his temperature regulator has to be malfunctioning now, or perhaps he had just lost too much heat from pushing himself too hard and venting off too much of the heated air that speedster frames tended to build up.

Setting himself upright, he relied on Rodimus for support, immediately showing the tear in his fuel line, optics slightly foggy and looking off to the side. “I need to wrap this up… It’s not as bad as it could be, but it really is, isn’t it? What’s wrong with Ratchet, Roddy?” It was hard to hear Drift’s voice, usually so lively and firm, take a low and demure tone made rough by the damage to his neck.

They both looked over to where Ratchet had been unceremoniously kicked on his back, Rodimus continuing to stay tensed and alert in front of Drift in case Ratchet tried to make another move.

Cautiously, Rodimus spoke up as his right hand helped Drift hold the fuel line edges together; Rodimus winced at how much it must hurt, but Drift was making no complaints as it was slowly and carefully wrapped by some previously subspaced tape. In fact, Drift seemed… Sad, more than scared. He was being too quiet, moving too little even considering his injury, and his EM field was full of exhaustion and distress.

“What the hell happened? Ratchet, you… I didn’t hit you that hard, did I? Can you answer me? What were you doing?” He wanted to ask why, but one thing at a time. He suspected that Ratchet didn’t know the answer to that last one, and Rodimus didn’t want to press someone who was potentially unstable and clearly dangerous at the moment. He pressed his back closer to Drift, fully ready to defend him if needed.

Rodimus took in Ratchet’s crumpled pose, still laid out where he had been kicked back, a look of absolute shock and strain on his face as his fists curled tightly against the stage floor, steaming energon dipping from around his slightly open mouth in small pools as he ex-vented heavily.

As Ratchet shook his helm a bit, he replied with an absolutely wrecked voice, as if it had been his vocaliser nearly ripped out instead of Drift’s. “I, Rodimus, I don’t know how long I’ll be lucid for. My fuel tank levels are registering within perfectly normal levels, but it feels like I’m being constantly drained, like I’m losing fuel from a leak that doesn’t exist—“

“So you put a leak in Drift?” Rodimus knew he shouldn’t have said anything as Ratchet’s head whipped up and stared him directly in the optics, the shattered look on his face so unfamiliar on Ratchet’s features that it startled Rodimus to see it.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me. My scans are coming back fine, all of them, I can’t find what’s wrong.” Real panic was seeping into Ratchet’s vocaliser, a bizarre and awful contrast to his usual calm steadiness even in the worst of situations. “You don’t understand, Rodimus, whatever energy the Great Sword released has altered my systems, perhaps everyone’s systems… Drift said you both felt overcharged, but I feel energy depleted, and it’s doing something to my processor. I feel so strange and— And Drift.”

The entire time he spoke, without his knowledge, his glossa lightly flicked out here and there to catch some spare flecks of Drift’s energon that had settled around his mouth. It set off a sick feeling in Rodimus’ spark, as it was clear Ratchet genuinely couldn’t help it, as if his coding had gone severely wrong somewhere. It reminded him of a cyberfox licking its paws after a hunt. It was too unrefined and subtly animalistic for a bot like Ratchet. It looked wrong, it felt wrong, and he could feel a surge of concerned sadness burst forth from Drift’s EM field behind him. Evidently he’d finished wrapping his fuel line and was now focused on Ratchet.

Ratchet noticed and finally moved, only slightly to avoid startling Rodimus into unnecessary action, as he picked up on Drift’s distressed EM signals.

“Drift, Primus, are—“ Ratchet’s optics went wide and he jerked back oddly, not moving from his place lest Rodimus make a move, but as though he were torn so completely that he couldn’t move. “—My medical protocols demand your neck be examined. If I do it, I don’t know what I’ll do. Where’s Velocity and First Aid?”

—-

Megatron bellowed across the bar, “They’re behaving oddly, get ready to fight them off!”

—-

"Drift, we're medics. We know where to bite to take the most energon straight from the central fuel line the fastest. I just did it to you, and being ripped free like that can rip the cable lining and weaken the integrity of the fuel line under pressure. It ruptures and causes a major bleed. It can kill someone. It will kill someone. If at any point we start failing to restrain ourselves, you have to incapacitate us. Tie us up. Do whatever. We are officially dangerous until this is resolved. I can't say my behaviour will be predictable, or sensible."

He then turned abruptly to Rodimus and Megatron, Ultra Magnus off to his opposite side, ready to intervene if needed.

"One of you, or both of you, I am asking you to do whatever you need to do if I go after Drift again. If I go for his central fuel lines again, he's already damaged. Another bite will weaken the line structure, its integrity will fail, and he will lose too much energon to be within safe levels. His nanites will take far too long to repair a gash that size. Please."

Ratchet hung his head, avoiding everyone's optics.

"I am a medic. I heal bots. I don't kill them.

---

AND THAT’S AS FAR AS I GOT, I hope to finish this up and edit it for AO3 soon, Happy Halloween!

#Halloween #MTMTE #transformers fic #ll #maccadam #maccadams #dratchet #megarod

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chekhovsraygun · 3 years ago

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Yesterday I came across the last person that truly touched my life and they appeared to me a ghost more tangible than daydreams and memories. Through the cracks of the screen protector left behind by my cat's unrelenting abuse I saw them smiling on my phone, and then many more times in an astonishing barrage of a slideshow, sometimes beaming, sometimes smoldering handsomely. I saw them while I was at work and I had to remove myself from the totality of what was happening around me because seeing them again after a year I can't fully remember disturbed me. In the public restroom I felt myself wanting to sob deeply and I felt myself disallowing any sort of catharsis despite locking the door behind me and no one really waiting on me as far as I could tell at the time. I couldn't pry myself away from seeing them there through the cracks, watching them thriving the way I told them they would when I reached out to them one last time. I'd paradoxically told myself they'd never talk to me again and that they would someday write back and we'd finally consolidate experiences and commiserate like we would daily when we used to speak to each other at all.

My dearest friend, her tough love always cutting bladelike through the silos of lingering angst and untapped grief when it comes to my love life, would positively lose her eyes rolling out of her skull if she saw me like this. Every time I find myself lapsing out of a relationship, doors left open or shut with the proper closure needed to move on, I am an idiot that needs to relearn the same lessons that I'd always tell myself I'd have engraved on my heart for next time. I can just hear myself telling my friend, telling her that I know I shouldn't let this loss affect me the way it does. The intimacy and connectedness that I had with them only speaks to the fact that I can do it again, older and wiser and with potentially so many other people that I have yet to meet in this life; I would love another deeper than the depths that I'd sunk to when they unceremoniously exited my life.

More than any other in my life, I'd allowed myself to give and take fragments of ourselves, the alchemy of any sort of intimate exchange creating a new person in each of us, the result of any rapturously vulnerable relationship, romantic or otherwise. I'm speaking on their behalf in ignorance here, but I feel myself being more like them than I'd been when I was with them. I love the part of myself that they gave me, and yet it also haunts me like they unwittingly do everyday, whether I'm conscious of it or not, and I can't help but wish deeply that they love the part of them that I'd given them, too.

We enriched each other’s lives and we ruined each other. I find myself needing to find the strength everyday to forgive them for the very provable fact that knowing them and now unknowing them has ruined my life. I shared more of myself than I'd ever done with anyone, and now I've been scattered across miles and miles to wherever they live now. I feel myself not having anything to give until I can finally sink down and scoop up everything I lost, and I'd been doing somewhat alright at this until yesterday came around and everything's on the floor again.

Once, when the fate of our relationship was uncertain, when their partner had backpedaled on his opinion of us and intervened, we exchanged tear-soaked words, we said we loved each other without saying so, and they said to me through their solemn eyes, "Thank God, I can feel things again," and I realize that it's only now that I'm beginning to understand what they meant by that. Well, I'm granting myself the catharsis that I'd prevented from myself for an entire year now, and I can't do anything else until I pour myself onto the page, and I can't do that free of ugly sobs and sob-induced headaches.

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bunnys-lovely-imagines · 5 years ago

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Request: Platonic Male TC imagine 1

I’ll probably be doing a small series of these. Hope they turn out ok!

————————————

Imagine it’s about a year from now - right around summertime, and perhaps you’ve come home from college or are visiting to see one of your friends or family members graduate.

You’ve been back in town a few days and are finally feeling rested after everything that’s been going on.

Life is back to as normal a pace as it will be, although a lot has changed in the past year. You’ve made new friends, found some new interests, maybe even been on a few dates, although no one has been special enough to really keep your attention for long. Perhaps your feelings for your TC still remain, but they’ve definitely softened into something less agonizing. Regardless, the idea of running into him now that you’re back in town has been more than a passing thought, and if you allow yourself to dwell on it long enough, a familiar thrill of excitement rushes through you. However, you try to keep yourself grounded in reality and remind yourself you won’t see him. Still, you never did get proper closure when the lockdown happened, so being able to finally see him and say a proper goodbye would be nice.

You’ve agreed to meet up with another friend for coffee. You’ve dressed up nicely and are very excited to see her. It’s been several months since the two of you have talked. You’re halfway through your commute, however, when she texts you to cancel at the last minute. You sigh and put your phone away. You decide to go ahead and head to the coffee shop anyway since you’ve gotten dressed up and were on your way anyway. You do feel a bit bummed though. You try not to let it get you down.

This was a favorite haunt of yours and your friends back in high school, and you got to know the servers and even the proprietors well, so you try to look forward to that. Besides, who knows who else you’ll run into here right? You take a deep breath and try to be positive as you pull open the door and head in. You’re greeted by your favorite server, and the two of you chat for a few minutes before you order your favorite drink and take a seat.

As you sit down, you hear your phone go off again. It’s your friend continuing to apologize for cancelling and making various excuses. You feel a surge of annoyance, but before you can dwell on it, you hear a familiar voice call your name.

You look up to see your TC who’s just walked through the door. He makes a beeline for your table. He’s alone today and dressed somewhat more casually than you’re used to. You feel those familiar butterflies start swimming around in your tummy, but it’s not as intense as in the past. Suddenly the dark cloud over your head melts away at the sunshine of seeing your TC again.

“Hey!” You say excitedly. “What are you doing here?” You ask. You used to come here all the time, but never saw him here before.

“Some of the juniors were telling me about this place, and I started coming here around February. Have you tried their muffins? They’re incredible.” He says as he takes a seat across from you at your table.

There’s a warm bubble building up in your chest at his sudden warmth and familiarity with you, and the irritation at your friend is now completely forgotten. The server comes to your table and brings your drink as well as asking your TC if he wants anything. He places an order, adding at the end “Oh, and a blueberry muffin for (y/n) here.”

“Oh you don’t have to do that!” You interject, however he insists.

“So what have you been up to?” He asks, “Glad to see you survived 2020.” There’s a note of humor, but simultaneously a certain level of weight in his voice. It was a rough year, after all.

You tell him about what you’ve been up to the past year while you enjoy your snacks and drinks, and he tells you about the past year - new policies the school system put into place, how it affected the teachers and students alike, as well as how it changed his own personal teaching methods.

“That’s such a shame,” you sigh. “Your classes were always the best.” The words escape before you even think about what you’ve just said, but you’re only met with a warm smile at your compliment.

“I’m glad you feel that way.” He responds. “I still try to keep things fun and interesting though.” He grins.

I don’t doubt it, you think to yourself.

The conversation drifts back and forth and you spend most of the afternoon talking. Perhaps you tell him about something new you learned about his subject at university and the two of you are able to chat about it. Perhaps he’s even able to explain the concept in a way that makes it clearer for you.

Before you know it, a couple hours have passed, and you have to get home. You’re on dinner duty tonight.

“It was great seeing you again,” you say before you head out. “I was worried after... y’know everything happened that I wouldn’t be able to see you again.”

His eyes soften a little and he nods, “I know what you mean. I’ve seen a few of you guys again since you would have graduated, but it’s weird being in the school and not seeing you all. It’s always a relief to see another one of you is doing well.”

You smile at him and feel a bit emotional at his sudden openness, though you’re not entirely sure how to respond.

“I’m really proud of you for pushing through all this during such a tough time,” he adds. “I don’t know if I could’ve done it.” You blush and murmur your thanks, once again unsure how to respond.

“Well, I’ll be seeing you, (y/n).” He says as the two of you head out into the parking lot and go your separate ways.

You can’t help but feel a deep sense of relief that he’s been well and that you finally got a sense of closure as you head home. Even still, as you reach your house and head inside, a familiar longing and affection that you haven’t felt in a long time burns quietly inside your heart. But it doesn’t hurt like it used to. In fact, it’s a little nostalgic.

#bunny’s imagines #tc imagine #tc imagines #platonic imagine #tcc #teacher crush community #teacher crush #male tc #platonic imagines #tc

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kamitribute · 5 years ago

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Personal post reminiscing the eight years with kamitribute

Wait guys... I just realized, I’ve had kamitribute for 8 years at this point. Wow.

I’m now an adult with responsibilities, family, dream job and somewhat busy lifestyle, honestly none of that is to blame for my absence here. I don’t intent to get rid of kamitribute, I might never fully stop if the platform keeps active and even then I’ve always had that dream of moving the project to a better format someday which I’ve talked about in the past.

However, for the longest time I’ve felt that putting time on to this project has been unhealthy for me on this platform, and I’m beginning to think it would be perhaps be helpful to talk about it, kind of get a closure. So that’s what why I’m writing now.

When I was around 11 years old, I accidentally came across Moi dix Mois’ Shadows Temple single about 2 years after it’s release and I had this kind of life defining realization moment I’ve never had before or since, a feeling that I’ve finally found myself. It didn’t take that long for me to discover Malice Mizer. I grew up with it. And with that went trough years of my personal hell with Malice Mizer as a great escape and a relief. I came through, but still had a long journey to heal and that is the time frame I started this blog on.

(trigger warn.: mental health, mental illness, depression, trauma, SI)

To come completely clean, the time I was most dedicated on keeping kamitribute was specifically the time in my life I had given up on life entirely. For the first time in a long while I wasn’t in eminent danger anymore, I lost all survival instinct altogether, and even though I had a safety net, I managed to seclude myself to a life of a hermit with no food or water just honestly wasting away. There kamitribute for me was something to do while I simply waited to perish. It was the one thing that kept me together. Even though the situation was majorly bleak, keeping this blog gave me so much joy.

It did take me years of hard work and therapy to fully integrate back to normal society and to find myself again. Which I did. I’m happier and healthier that I’ve ever been in my entire lifetime.

But now that I understand how messed up my world was at that point in life, every time I get back on the platform it still haunts me half a decade later. So I try my best to only work on the blog where it doesn’t effect my mental health, and where it does I tell myself gently to take time off and I don’t pressure myself to get back to it. After all it’s just a light-hearted fan blog.

So that’s the story. I’m sure nobody needs an explanation, but honestly I think I did. It feels good to write it down and close the book.

Sincerely though, Thank you for sticking around. Holy shh----

#personal

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mysterious-story-teller · 5 years ago

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SUF: AU Chapter 5- Entangle

Author’s note: Hello! Mystery is here! I would love to say thank you to everyone that has taken the time to read my work and I will keep the ball rolling and sending off chapter 5 for all the world to see. I surely hope that you are liking where the story is going thus far! Now, without further delay, let’s get started! Word count: 2,402 UwU

Also, for now on: I will have a *Trigger Warning* whenever something drastic is happening in the chapter. So for this warning! There will be blood. The torture continues! Enjoy <3

With care, Yuugi places the notebook down on Steven’s nightstand, turning his heel to make his way downstairs to have the gruesome nightmare of last night haunting him. He knows he is back to the reality where he feels safe yet with every step he made, the more he could see blood from the walls and stairs of Steven’s home. Trying so hard to remind himself again and again that what he is seeing isn’t real and that all he wants to do is to make his way to the bathroom. Memories of last night shifting into his own focus from recalling back of how spooked he was when running into the bathroom.

Now feeling utterly silly when the gems were being patient with him from not being able to speak and accepting his answers of having no idea where he was and how he even got here in the first place; just having a name for this world brings some closure to him. A tinge of guilt was shown on his face from how he acted and bringing some burden to Garnet when not wanting anyone else to feel as lost he was. He grabs a hold of the handle of the bathroom door to open it, turning on the light and just when he thought he was okay after such a dream; his body froze when seeing a mirror in the bathroom.

He knows there would be a mirror but after having that nightmare, he would rather avoid all mirrors at all cost just so he wouldn’t see his reflection. Yuugi sees a towel nearby and takes it off the rack to have the towel block out his vision so he can open up the mirror cabinet and have it close halfway with the towel blocking the reflection of himself. He knows he is overreacting but the last thing he would want is his mind to continue on playing tricks on him and have him see something that isn’t there. He doesn’t want to look troubled and would rather to continue on the day on a brighter note than having the reminder of what has just happened to him.

Thankfully he found an extra towel to use so when he is done, he can dry himself off, yet the problem is not having anything else to wear when his clothes are clearly dirty and need to be washed. Yuugi forcefully pushes the thoughts of self-doubt and continues the task at hand; unbuckling to unzipping to remove the heavy hooded trench coat he was wearing the night before; his gloves were next to the bottoms of his jeans. He hasn’t even come to a realization just how by stained and dirty his clothes were knowing those stains aren’t something that happened over night.

Just how long was he wearing the same exact clothes before getting to where he is today? Yuugi ruffles his spiky hair in frustration when everything is still confusing to him and how he just wants to know the answers of the questions he held. With a sigh, he reaches over the right knob of the shower to turn it on to the perfect temperature that he has desired. His eyes going into a trance of the hot steam welcoming him and getting into the tub with the shower curtain covering him from the nakedness of the world. Didn’t even take long for his playful spikes to be resting against his shoulders and just let himself to be bask into the comforts of the water streaming down on him.

Clasping his hands together to keep himself calm when it was just a nightmare; whatever happened isn’t going to hurt him and he sure as hell wouldn’t want to bother both Steven and Connie more than he already has. Considering he has never once observed Steven’s shower, he decides to look around to see how cozy it looks; not even too big or small but just right. His amethyst orbs looking around more and looking up to see a shower rack when it took some time to notice it was hanging on the shower head; knowing he is definitely not completely here from being in a daze.

Reaching over to grab a couple of bottles to see what they are for and did what was necessary to get himself clean upon reading the labels; squeezing the bottle gingerly to not use too much of it. He didn’t want to seem like he was taking advantage of Steven so he hoped he wouldn’t mind using some of his products. However, he has noticed the fragrance of the shower gel and the shampoo and how it was a pleasant scent. Scrubbing down his hair with care to enjoy the lovely scent of Steven’s shampoo. Not even realizing how much he was losing touch with reality from the water reverting back and forth from water to blood raining down on him.

The more it reverts back to blood, he extends his hand and turns it to his direction just so blood can trickle against his wrist. Giving light touches to see it smearing against his wrist; a small smirk playing on his lips. Startling himself from snapping back into reality and that the blood he just saw a moment a ago wasn’t there anymore. It was all in his head. Looking down at his shaken hand of how disarranged his mind is when the blood he smeared against his skin was nowhere to be found. Even looking around to see there was no blood; just himself with hot water touching every curve of his skin to his hair resting against his shoulders.

Shaking his head when none of this was making any sense to him. He has no memories of his past and from how damaged his clothes were; there was no possibility of being able to put two to two together. Trying so hard to convince himself that from what he had last night was a nightmare; not a vision or seeing a small piece of his past. He’s not a murderer. A being who enjoys the sight of blood. He closes his eyes for a moment to pay close attention to the stream of hot water is hitting against his skin; using the other senses of touch and sound. The texture of the blood in his nightmare isn’t like water; it wasn’t cold or sticky against his skin.

The hot stream of water rolling off his skin like nothing. He placed his hands forward with them forming a shape of a cup so the water can gather in the palm of his hands. Rinsing his face to snap out of him being distraught; getting flustered that the day just started and here he was feeling so drained. From how jumpy he is becoming, the sound of the knock startled him that he was gripping onto the walls to keep himself from losing his balance. Hearing the knock the second time, Yuugi reaches over to turn off the water just so he will be able to hear whoever that knocked on the bathroom door.

“Yuugi, it’s me, I got some clothes for you to wear for today.” Yuugi’s eyes slightly shine in response when hearing a familiar voice; mentally kicking himself from losing sight of everything around him. Hearing Steven’s voice stopped him from being trapped within the very core of his mind when he is starting to see that this is the reality he is in. Carefully walks out of the shower to grab the extra towel he found earlier; wrapping it above his chest with the towel touching the ground. Looking around for a moment to see nothing on the walls; turning off the light, he unlocks the door and partially opens it with his amethyst orbs being seen.

“Morning! Here are the clothes you can try on for today.” Yuugi couldn’t say anything when everything was hidden but the only thing, he can think of was giving Steven a thumbs up and taking the clothes that was offered to him. With the door closed, Yuugi quickly turns on the light once more and has his ears indulge the sounds of the two teens that are giving him the peace of mind he needs and walks away from the door to place the clothes onto the closed toilet seat. He places his hand onto his hair to feel the suds still bubbling within and how he still needs to finish up washing up. Just how long did time pass until he was able to snap back into reality?

He turns on the shower once more and has a goal in mind: finishing up showering just so he can go back out there and join with Connie and Steven. The last thing he would want is for them to ask if he was okay when he just wants to continue on the day in hopes that his reality won’t be split into two again. Thankfully his composure is still intact when having the stream of hot water hitting against his skin and finishing the task at hand of having the suds of his hair and the remanence of last night washed away. With a silent sigh, he turns off the shower to grab the same towel he used a moment ago to dry himself; using the towel he dried himself off with to wrap the towel around his hair to the cotton material soak up the water of his hair.

Looking back at the mirror cabinet that had the same towel he used earlier to block out his reflection was still there; concealed until being revealed. Considering how he is avoiding mirrors at all cost when his reality can just as easily split into two; he carefully removes the towel off the mirror cabinet and gently closes it while looking in the other direction. Upon looking in the other direction, his attention was drawn onto the clothes that Steven has given him to wear for the day. Trying on a salmon-pink tee shirt with a yellow star in the middle to the blue cuffed jeans; completely astounded just by how pretty close the clothes fit him.

Yuugi knew he was small in height but the clothes definitely showed that he is slightly four inches shorter so there was some extra room to the cuffed jeans somewhat drag onto the ground. This little factor alone made him silently chuckle to himself and open the bathroom door; completely forgetting that the towel was still around his hair. With a simple flick of turning off the lights, it was like he was back to where he felt safe. He soon realized that he didn’t get the chance to see what he looks like; quickly averting his eyes away from Steven and Connie. He slowly looks back at them to see their eyes sparkling at him.

“Wow, my clothes actually fit you, well, sort of.”

Connie rubs her chin and walks over to Yuugi to grab him by the hand and guiding him back on the couch, removing the towel to reveal his hair slowly taking its shape with the spikes being playful yet still damped. “Steven, if you get your clothes from your dad, do you think he’ll have extra clothes that could be more of Yuugi’s size?” Everything is happening so fast that Yuugi tries to get up to protest when this was too much when not wanting to be a bother to having Connie keeping him in place and telling him that she would be right back. The tri-color teen looks over his shoulder in confusion to see her coming back with a hairbrush and sits on top of the couch with her legs resting against his shoulders; brushing his hair all the while.

With a silent gulp, he is trying to process what's going on when everything has shifted in his own perspective. A second ago, he was losing his mind from seeing nothing but blood to now being looked after like he has been in their lives for a very long time. He is trying his very best to keep a straight face and not look so troubled around them from not wanting to take away the calming atmosphere around them. Amethyst eyes soon looks over at Steven and does a sign of him writing to Steven getting the hint and going upstairs to get the notebook and lead pencil so the teen can communicate with them.

He would have reached over to grab the notebook but Connie kept him in place and from her being so delicate with his hair, he was so pleased when Steven went to his side and handed him over the only thing he can use to communicate. He would talk normally yet it would be hard for Connie to see him moving his lips and understand what he was saying. The moment he got the notebook and lead pencil, he starts writing down what is on his mind so both Connie and Steven can have an understanding why he was looking uncomfortable. ‘As much as I appreciate the things you have done for me, I am not used to being shown such kindness.’

It may have seemed he just lied to them when he was actually telling the truth from feeling uncomfortable with the amount of kindness that is being shown to him. Yuugi blinks when feeling Connie grabbing a hold of his bangs to brush them with care and Steven gives one of his best award-winning smiles at Yuugi. “If you thought this is too much kindness for you then you haven’t seen nothing yet. We just want to be comfortable around us and we are going to my Dad’s in a bit so you can wear some clothes that are more you.”

Steven could definitely see that there were a lot of things Yuugi isn’t used to when they were just showing a bit of kindness to him. Just how deprived was he? He has never seen someone who is withdrawn of what is natural for him and Connie to do when this was another way to bond with others. Is there a way to have the smaller teen feel comfortable around them without having the need to stop them? Not even realizing that the smaller teen is hiding something far worse than just being uncomfortable…

—-

Author’s note: Horray! You made it! Now wasn’t that splendid? :D Yes, I am enjoying what I am writing thus far. Please don’t forget to like and reblog! Have an amazing day and remember: Steven and Connie loves you! :3

#trauma #trigger warning #blood #Reblog #don’t repost #steven universe future #steven universe future au #ALTERNATE DIMENSION #confusion #bathing in blood #finding yourself #yugioh #yuugi #steven #connie

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sso-emotree · 6 years ago

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thank you sso

Today’s quests really hit home for me, especially after this past January. And it wasn’t until after these quests, and after talking to friends, that this is exactly what I needed.

Ever since January 12, SSO has been up and down for me. It’s not because of the game. It’s because one of my closest online friends, whom I met via SSO, passed away the day before.

Not a single day has gone by since that day where I don’t tear up at least once about her. And, honestly... it’s weird to me, because, I never knew her in person. Sure, we’d video chatted a few times and, hell, we’d known each other for about two years at that point. But something about this particular death, I couldn’t get over. Whether it was how sudden it was, the fact that she was just an online friend, or the fact it was her birthday -- I’m still not entirely certain, but either way, this was one of the hardest deaths I’ve ever had to overcome.

Knowing that today was coming, knowing that we were having a memorial for Elizabeth, and knowing that, of all places, it would happen to be at Doyle’s Abbey, has been haunting me. I can still remember the first time I ever spoke to Hannah on discord. We talked for well over an hour, just walking our horses around Doyle’s Abbey and the surrounding area. I was completely expecting to be crushed.

But... that didn’t happen.

Sure, I cried my eyes out. I’m not gonna lie, I sobbed like a baby. I stood in my room for ten minutes hugging my stuffed owl crying into it. But... I feel... better?

The conclusion I’ve come to is that this quest while bringing the soul riders closure for the loss of their friend and leader has also brought me closure in losing one of the brightest souls I was ever privileged enough to meet. I don’t know what it is about it. Whether it was the rainbow, just mingling with NPCs and thinking of good times, or the music -- I just felt better right after the quests.

I even realized now, hours later, that I genuinely feel lighter. Like a weight I didn’t know I was carrying has been lifted off of my chest.

To me, today’s quests were not only a great step for SSO in terms of writing and developing the story, but, for me, it was a stand-in for the wake/funeral I never got to go to for Hannah.

Thank you so much for this, SSO.

And, honestly? Just everything this game has done for me.

Even months ago when my depression was so bad that only the South Hoof Rescue Ranch music was all that could get me out of bed. Even somewhat recently, when I felt my friendships were crumbling around me and we all stayed together despite it. Even all of those times the game has made me angry or annoyed, or laugh then cry then cry-laughing... idk. I know I’m a sap but I cannot thank SSO enough for everything they’ve done for me. I can only hope that I can ever be able to show my true appreciation for you guys in the future.

#sso #star stable #star stable online #for hannah #sso spoilers

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meshkol · 6 years ago

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Title: Souls for Bargain Pairings/Relationships: Tony Stark/Stephen Strange (IronStrange) Warnings/Rating: Endgame spoilers!!! Summary: Stephen makes a bargain. Notes: Fuck you Marvel, fuck you Russos, and fuck you Feige. Burn in hell. Fix-it #1 of who-knows-how-many. Unbeta'd af. Fill T-3 for the Tony Stark Bingo 2019: Reunion

***IF REBLOGGING, PLEASE TAG FOR SPOILERS!***

Stephen takes a deep breath and opens a portal to the Soul Realm.

He goes inside after performing a spell to keep his feet dry and closes the portal behind him, leaving him ‘alone’ in this realm, and he begins to walk, not knowing where he’s going in this empty place but trusting his gut instinct to guide him nevertheless. He supposes that he could use a tracking spell, but despite taking years to gather the nerve for this while simultaneously doing research and fighting battles, he finds that he’s still not quite prepared for the confrontation.

He couldn’t look into the futures of this realm so he’s flying blind, he knows – the Time Stone is powerful, yes, but it can’t interfere with the realities of the other stones. He doesn’t know how this is going to go or what to expect, and while he would make the same decision again in giving up the Time Stone, he still wants to suffer for it. He’s lived millions of lives, died millions of times, seen millions of futures, and it still hurts that the choice was on his shoulders. He’s seen the pain and grief in the eyes of everyone around him, seen the judgement in their glances, and he doesn’t blame them. He made this choice, no one else, and the guilt is eating him alive. He needs to atone for that, and what he’s doing now is a damn good start.

“You understand that you’re interfering, yes?” a voice says from behind him.

Stephen doesn’t startle, just keeps walking and walking and walking in this barren world, and replies quietly, “I’m very good at interfering. I’m not planning on changing anything, and would you let me even if I was?”

There’s a moment of quiet, save the wet footfalls of Stephen’s boots and his even breaths, and then Warlock asks, “Then why do you come to this place?”

Stephen’s feet leave the shallow water in exchange for the dry, sandy shoreline, eyes taking in the expanse of silent desert and savannah in front of him. He’s thankful for the spell on his boots even more now that he’s on dry land, and leaves it intact in order to have more stable footing on the dunes as he responds, “Closure. Absolution. For both of us.”

“He knows, Sorcerer Supreme,” Warlock says. “He understands the sacrifice that he made, and understands the role everyone played. I do not believe he is happy, but he has accepted his fate. Do not give him hope where there is none.”

Stephen resists the urge to spin around and shake Adam Warlock like a ragdoll because he needs to play nice here. It’s necessary to not antagonise him needlessly, not when Stephen needs something that only Warlock can grant.

“Come, this way,” Warlock says, finally stepping ahead of Stephen though his feet do not touch the sand. “The sooner you get your closure, the sooner you can stop disturbing the peace of this realm.”

Stephen follows Warlock without replying, watching the dim red light turn his bright blond hair into strands of sharp vermillion, and tries to steady his heartbeat. He knows that his physical form is still safely absconded in his bedroom on Bleecker Street and that it’s not a real reaction, but it still feels real, despite being muted. It’s been three years since the end of the War, three long years of celebration and battles and piecing the decaying planet back together again after so long being neglected, but the distance of time between that final battle and now hasn’t erased a lot of pain and suffering. He’s terrified that it’s all in vain, terrified of the reactions from the people he’s going to see, terrified that Warlock will deny him even despite the case he’s going to make, but he has to stay focussed and calm, needs to stay in control. After all, there’s no point in fretting – he has the Time Stone, so he can always rewind and try again until he’s successful. Stephen’s always been tirelessly persistent, and he refuses to accept defeat.

In the distance, a shape comes into sight like a mirage. It’s simple and calm – only a small oasis in the middle of the endless desert – and three figures are sitting around a copse of palm trees and dry grasses. He knows who they are, knows that they were summoned by Warlock’s will alone, and his heart returns to its racing staccato, sweat dampening his palms and the skin above his upper lip. He forces himself to not wipe his hands on his robes and drag his hand through his hair, nervous ticks that will only give away how apprehensive he is, and by the time he can make out the individual features of his peers, he feels overly damp despite the lack of temperature.

They stop right in front of the figures, Warlock taking a seat on the grasses next to a small pond of red-tinted water, and Stephen swallows, trying to get his thoughts in order so he can speak coherently. His hands are shaking, both from the nerve damage that he feels even in an astral form and from nerves, and he has the sudden urge to start pacing. He refrains, despite the itch, and swallows again, opening his mouth to speak to his companions.

Except Tony gets there first.

“Hey Doc,” he says, looking fit and healthy (not half-charred and lifeless, red- and yellow-tinted eyes bulging out of socket and blood seeping from his wounds sluggishly as his heart fails, so quiet and haunted as he of-so-slowly finds rest from the agony in his broken body), but there’s an edge of desperation to his eyes, and Stephen doesn’t even have the chance to wonder why before Tony’s letting it all out. “Morgan...how is she? Is she alive, happy? C’mon, you’ve gotta know. I don’t need to know what’s happening on the other side, or how everything is, not even Pep or Peter, I—I just—please.”

Stephen feels a bit of tension leave his shoulders and he replies quietly, “She’s doing well, Tony. She’s seven now, and apparently quite the firecracker, smart as a whip and with a streak of mischief a mile wide, just like her father.”

Tony laughs, wet and harsh even as he sinks to his knees in clear, bone-deep relief, and he whispers in a croak, “Thank you. Thank you.”

“Clint? What about Laura and the kids?” asks Natasha, green eyes big and damp, and she steps over to Tony to rest a hand in his hair, stroking through the strands in absent comfort as if they’ve done this a thousand times. They probably have, stuck in the Soul Realm for all eternity, forced to simply exist without form or reason, without purpose.

“Good. Pardons came fairly quick, but he opted out of joining the Avengers once again except under extenuating circumstances,” Stephen explains. “They seem to be happy and at peace, and I can think of no better life for them. I know your little namesake is deep in cahoots with Morgan, as they’re always hotwiring something or another. It drives Pepper and Clint insane.”

Tony laughs, even as he begins to sob with his face buried in his hands, and Natasha drops to her own knees, wrapping her arms gingerly around him. “Good for them,” she teases. “Nothing better than having your own personal Stark to make things interesting. Or outrageously dramatic.”

Stephen smiles, a bit weakly but honest, and turns to Gamora. “Your family is well. They check in frequently, and are keeping in high spirits. Thor’s with them, and from what I hear around the universe, they’re causing mayhem as to be expected.”

Gamora smirks, though her own eyes are wet with moisture, and she rubs her arms with the palms of her hands as if she’s cold. “That’s a massacre waiting to happen. I’m surprised that Peter hasn’t thrown him overboard yet.”

“I’m sure he’s tried,” Stephen admits honestly, “but Thor’s a tough one when he’s motivated. They...have a lot in common.”

Her face stays mostly impassive but Stephen can physically feel the pain, which is somewhat surprising. He’s not naturally empathetic, and he’s not using any spells to be so, so he figures it’s part of the Soul Realm. He’s torn from that brief train of thought when she asks calmly, “Why are you here?”

“Ah, that is the question,” Warlock chimes, fingers tapping against a knee. “I cannot let them go, and I know you know this.”

“Your peaceful existence was decimated when Thanos destroyed the stones,” Stephen says, fighting to keep his own voice calm. “If it hadn’t been for the sacrifice of these three individuals, you would still be lost, you and all the people that have been claimed by the Soul Stone.”

“Should I help all of them leave this realm then?” Warlock argues evenly, betraying none of his emotions. Stephen sees the others stiffen from the corner of his eyes, eyes widening with the sudden possibility of freedom, but he doesn’t take his eyes off the man who was originally gifted the Stone by the powerful High Evolutionary.

“That is not my decision, and would likely consume a significant amount of power,” Stephen replies. “I am only interested in these three, to put them back where they rightly belong for the coming conflicts of this universe. We cannot do it without them.”

“Have you even asked them if they want to fight?” Warlock questions, a twinge of sardonic amusement in his tone. “This realm is peaceful, if a bit lonely without their loved ones, and returning would only lead to strife and further grief. Would it not be kinder to let them rest?”

“I don’t have to ask them,” Stephen says. “Their loved ones are under constant threat – do you not think that they would suffer through anything to keep those people safe? All three of them have already made their sacrifice for those loved ones, and they will continue to fight on the side of life until they are unable to do so.”

“You act like there is a great calamity coming. What do you know?” Warlock demands.

Stephen takes a deep breath and says with as much flatness as he can muster, “Galactus, Adam. He’s on the move.”

Gamora inhales sharply as Natasha says, “Who is that? What are we facing here?” It’s comforting to hear, as if it’s already been decided that Warlock will help release them and she’ll be joining some unknown fight. He shakes his head, silently asking her to ask questions later and opting instead to focus on Warlock, who looks pale and troubled. He knows that Warlock has experience with the Devourer, but the system containing Earth hasn’t faced such a threat before. The Infinity Stones and Thanos had been mere child’s play in comparison, and yes, Stephen needs to atone for his actions during the War, but Earth needs defenders too and besides, Tony Stark is a man that Earth needs. Between him, Reed Richards, and Bruce Banner, they cover every specialty and science known to man, and Stephen knows that Earth desperately needs that to face the coming threat.

“I cannot create bodies, Sorcerer Supreme,” Warlock says eventually.

Instantly, Stephen retorts, “You don’t have to.” There’s a beat of silence, one of Warlock’s eyebrows quirking up in a silent inquiry and slight incredulity, and Stephen swallows once again before he says quietly, “I am the master of the Time Stone. I retrieved all of the bodies and, with the help of select individuals who I entrusted to keep silent, utilised both magic and Tony Stark’s modified Extremis to repair the soulless bodies before putting them into cryo. Putting their souls back into their own bodies is less troublesome than corpses.”

“Pepper...” Tony whispers, jaw dropped and looking horrified.

Stephen understands where Tony’s head’s at, so he explains as gently as he can, “I wouldn’t have told even her, but I needed the Extremis, and honestly, I would not want to be on her murder list if this does work and she wasn’t in the loop. I made sure to emphasise that this was a gamble and might not come to fruition, so she has no exuberant hope for your return, and I can assure you that your daughter has not been made aware of any remote possibility.”

“My God,” Gamora says almost silently. “This is actually possible.”

“Theoretically, yes,” Stephen says. “I’ve done the research and he—” Stephen gestures to Warlock, who looks carefully expressionless. “—is capable of it even without my assistance.” Stephen takes a deep breath and says with heavy finality, “Adam. I need them. This universe needs them. You have to help us or Galactus will devour us all. You know what he’s capable of, and you know the stakes here.”

There is nothing but silence, and then Warlock seems to steel himself as he says, “Alright, Stephen. But I’m coming with you.”

Tony opens his eyes.

Everything is stiff, which he supposes he should’ve expected considering that he was frozen for over three years, but ultimately he’s unconcerned in the wake of everything else. In his immediate vision, blurry as it is, he can see Pepper and Happy, Peter and Harley, and a tall, young girl with his own brown eyes and dark hair, a wide grin on her face and tears streaming down her cheeks. She’s beautiful and perfect, his precious little angel, and all he can do is reach helplessly towards her despite his shaking, weak arms, his own tears already starting to trickle down his face.

She rushes towards him despite a few half-hearted words to take it easy, but he doesn’t care that she’s crushing him with the strength of her hug if it means that he can hold her, doesn’t care that he can feel his hospital gown growing wet and sticky with mucus and tears if he can bury his own face into her sweet-smelling hair, doesn’t care that she’s sobbing so loudly that it hurts his ears if he can just cherish the fact that he gets to hear her voice again, slightly different with age but just as precious and familiar. He loves this tiny little human, his flesh and blood and soul and heart, with every iota of his person, and it is an immeasurable gift to be able to hold her once again, to hear her choke out I love you daddy I’ve missed you so much though the tears.

He weeps and whispers soft words into his daughter’s hair, and breathes.

“Hey stranger,” he hears echo into the empty front from of the Sanctum.

Stephen recognises the voice but doesn’t stop his reading until he gets to the end of the chapter, humming slightly under his breath as he closes the finished book. He glances up, taking in the very-much-alive man standing a bit awkwardly in the door, fiddling with a phone in his hand like he’s itching to tear it apart for something to do.

“Tony,” Stephen greets in return, pleased when his tone remains calm despite the nerves in his stomach. They’ve interacted a lot over the past year, coming up with plans for Galactus while managing the veritable madhouse that is Tony Stark and Natasha Romanoff Are Alive! He’s seen Tony in so many ways (a father, a friend, and champion...a complete arsehole) and he understands why people are always saying that Anthony Stark is a conundrum. He’s the type of man that can only be loved or hated, no grey area in between, and oh, Stephen loves him. Desperately so.

It’s only gotten worse since everything settled, because he knows it’s not appropriate nor is it the right time. They’re preparing for the next conflict, and despite a year to come to terms with it, Pepper is still married to Happy Hogan now, and Stephen knows that Tony’s both gutted and happy that she’s moved on with a great man who’s treated his daughter right. And regardless, Stephen did send Tony on a suicide mission, and no amount of casual flirting or playfully sarcastic banter can erase that, he knows. Stephen’s going mad with want, but he’s not an idiot – he hasn’t got a chance with Tony and he’s accepted that.

Tony huffs out a laugh, then says without fanfare, “If you’d told me that I was going to die during that fight, I would’ve still done it, y’know. I had my priorities, and my priority was Morgan and Pepper. I’d do it again, even if I hadn’t gotten out of that boring-as-hell desert.”

“I couldn’t take that chance,” Stephen replies. He hadn’t even thought to look at a future where he had told Tony how it had to end, because they hadn’t had enough time when Stephen had had the answer already. He doesn’t think Tony’s lying, honestly – he’s self-sacrificing and pure-hearted like that, despite his reputation – but it doesn’t really matter anymore.

“Yeah, I know,” Tony sighs, then leans against the Cauldron of the Cosmos with a smirk on his face.

“Stop it,” Stephen drawls, fighting a smile.

“Make me,” Tony parries back, grin widening and a spark of mischief in his eyes.

Stephen’s entire body throbs with want, and even as he’s fighting the urge to rise from his chair and pull Tony against his own body instead of the cauldron, he hears himself saying lightly, “And how would you like me to do that?”

“Well,” Tony says airily, eyes rolling up to the ceiling as if thinking, “you could send me to an alternate dimension, but that would null all your efforts to bring me back to life and where would you all be without my sparkling personality and charm. You could also portal me to Tasmania, but that just seems needlessly dramatic and a tad bit rude. Personally, though, I vote for dinner. Le Bernardin, eight o’clock sharp? I’d hate to miss our reservation, and God knows you’re dragging your feet on asking me out yourself. Idiot.”

Stephen stares at him for a long time, mouth open and eyes wide, and then he replies quietly, “Sounds like a date.”

Tony grins.